


That's The Way The Cookie Crumbles

by nileflood



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Attempted Murder, M/M, Murder Mystery, Police Procedural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-19 11:42:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1468192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nileflood/pseuds/nileflood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the TV show Castle: Gabriel Tricksler is a successful crime author with everything going for him. He's got a great publisher behind him, several best-sellers under his belt and now Hollywood wants to make his books into a blockbuster. Life couldn't get much better. </p><p>Well, he could find some motivation to write.</p><p>Luckily for him, or maybe not as it turns out, a body is discovered at one of his charity events, and the investigating officer is none other than Sam Wesson, one of the city's best homicide investigators and perfect inspiration.  He's not so keen on working side-by-side with Gabriel Tricksler, but his Chief makes sure he has no choice in the matter.</p><p>Of course, when Gabriel manages to literally stumble over a second corpse, Sam starts to suspect that Gabriel is more involved than he's letting on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to both velocitym1 and skarofalls-gallifreystands over in Tumblr land who helped me get this fic into a readable state with good humour and patience. Thank you also to Bella who helped during the long, long long process or writing this whole thing and gave me encouragement and a good kick when I needed it.
> 
> Art can be found [ here in fulll](http://velocitym1.livejournal.com/2427.html) and the wonderful podfic is [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1531484) Go enjoy! :)

  


**Nine years ago:**

He hated court. He’d only been into a room like this for research before and, in his younger days, to make amends for dumb colleague pranks gone wrong. This felt like a joke too, but not the sort he could easily laugh off. No, it felt like a nightmare.

He didn’t want to have to deal with this. The book had sold well, but it wasn’t going to pay the rent forever unless he got the sequel edited and sent off in time, and the man that the publishers had assigned to him was a demon. He’d already been up most of the night trying to correct all the grammar he’d taken issues with, and now he had to appear in court and defend himself against a stupid plagiarism accusation.

He hadn’t stolen someone else’s work. He hadn’t copied someone else since the fourth grade when he’d accidentally-on-purpose copied Julie Cho’s math paper and he’d had to stand up in the corner of the class for what felt like hours. After that, he’d promised never again.

That, his lawyer had said, was not something to tell the court. They had a solid defence, of course. The Ryder book had certain similarities to the as yet unfinished manuscript of one Quinten Merchant, but detective fictions of that sort always shared certain aspects of plot and style. It’d be over before they knew it, his lawyer had promised.

They’d been in court for two days now. Gabriel was running out of different shirts and out of energy. It should have been cut and dry. There just wasn’t any proof. True, he and Merchant had once belonged to the same writing classes but Gabriel had hardly gone at all, not after his loan had come through from the bank, and he’d bought himself a copy of the latest Playstation shoot-em-up game. He’d taken years to write his book, just as long to make it publishable, and frankly he’d been surprised that anyone had picked it up at all. He was even more surprised that someone, let alone an old classmate, thought he’d copied their work.

He took a deep breath and pulled into the parking lot in front of the court. He might be selling well, but he wasn’t a big star and so there wasn’t a mass of reporters lying in wait, thank god. He’d expected the news to cause more of a stir in the press, but Ms. Ganesh had sighed and told him they wouldn’t be lucky enough to receive any sort of PR boost. He wouldn’t be mobbed by paparazzi until he became more popular, and that wouldn’t happen till his book was reviewed in more papers, and if he wanted to be really successful, he had to get the sequel out. That last part she’d told him very pointedly, so that he wished he’d said nothing at all.

Maybe that was why he’d felt more motivated, the fact that she seemed so disappointed by how the book was doing. He didn’t want to be a flop, for his own sake mostly. But it’d be nice if Ms. Ganesh stopped giving him those unimpressed looks.

He grabbed the stack of papers from the passenger seat, hopping out of the car and towards the steps. She was waiting there in front of him, in a grey trouser suit with a briefcase in hand, her hair in a business-like ponytail. She looked beautiful, and deadly. Gabriel put on his best grin. Surprisingly, and maybe for the first time, she matched it.

“So you’ve heard the news?” Ms. Ganesh asked him when he reached her, having climbed the stone steps two at a time to try and prove his manliness. All it did was make his legs hurt.

“What?”

“They’ve thrown out the case. It’s been ruled as a waste of the court’s time. They said you didn’t have reasonable ease of access to Merchant’s work. I don’t doubt that he’ll try a civil suit, but that will fall on its face too, or so our legal team tell me. Then we’d file a countersuit anyway, for defamation of character, stress…”

Gabriel felt himself deflate in happy relief, the worry just melting away. “Does that mean we can go for a celebratory coffee?” He asked, and maybe it was the faint note of pleading that made her smile. Maybe it was genuine pleasure that her author wasn’t going to jail.

“Oh, I think so. Once you’ve attended a little press conference I’ve arranged. And finished those edits.”


	2. The Mystery of the Sleeping Man

**Present Day:**

Kali was glaring at him from the other side of the room. He could feel it, even though the Park Hotel’s ballroom seemed enormous, and he had his back turned. But he’d lived with that glare for four years, and survived it long before they’d married.

He tried to ignore it for as long as he could, laughing along with some of the other guests who had nothing to do but enjoy themselves and gobble down the free booze and nibbles. He wished he wasn’t the star of the whole shebang, a wish that might have surprised some of his guests. Gabriel Tricksler, best-selling author, renowned party-goer and all-round attention seeker was beginning to get sick of the attention.

No. That wasn’t quite true.

He was getting sick of the pressure. A book a year shouldn’t have been that hard. He used to turn out at least two, in the early days. But now he had so much more to do: charity fundraisers and talk shows and meetings with publishers and meetings with journalists and fan mail and everything else that went along with it. Researching and writing came second to all of it. Hells, writing would have been a nice break from all of that, when he had the inspiration.

But back home on his computer screen shone one dead-in-the-water draft, a solitaire game and several websites he was slowly scrolling through.

No one here, apart from him and Kali, knew what a state he was in. He was a writer who couldn’t write. All he seemed capable of doing at the moment was shaking hands and signing autographs on title pages. He didn’t mind that. He loved it, in fact. He could talk about his stories and his characters for hours, if anyone gave him half the chance.

He was listening attentively to the attractive young woman in front of him now, his smile growing wider and wider every second as she praised one of his older books. He couldn’t honestly ever grow sick of that, could he? He wasn’t made of stone. He was about to launch himself into musing on the central character when a tight grip closed on his arm, the sharp nails pointedly digging into his flesh through his shirt.

“I’m sorry, but I need to borrow Gabriel for a moment,” Kali said, all politeness and smiles until she’d turned him around and was part dragging, part marching him through the swathes of people. Her smile was fixed on, and she was even managing a little nod and wave to members of the crowd. No one seemed to notice he was being lectured. Or maybe they did, and thought it was hilarious. They’d been divorced for over two years, and yet he was still playing the role of the husband who could do nothing right.

“I thought I told you how important it was for you to talk to the group from LA,” Kali was saying, her grip never failing.

“I did talk to them,”

“No, you greeted them when they arrived. If you want the Ryder series turned into Hollywood blockbusters, then you better make more of an effort to impress them. Because cheap champagne isn’t going to do it.”

“I didn’t pick the champagne. You did that.”

That was not the thing to say. Her nails, manicured to fine points and painted blood red, bit a little harder into his flesh.

“I’m sorry. I’ll speak to them now. But I’m going to get a breath of fresh air first.”

“No! Gabriel Tricksler, if you dare—”

But he had managed to twist his way out of her grip and slipped between the crowds, heading towards the huge double doors that lead out to the hotel lobby. They’d spent thousands on hiring the venue alone, mostly just to impress the Hollywood bigwigs that had come to town. The champagne wasn’t cheap at all, he’d seen invoices when they’d been setting up that afternoon. It was all going to be wasted if he couldn’t get his act together.

He forced a bright smile to someone as he squeezed by another group, heading not through the main doors but the smaller ones at the side of the bar. There was a comfortable little lounge which was set aside for their use tonight, somewhere for all the bits and pieces Kali had brought along. But more importantly, there were chairs, and Gabriel sank down into one with a sigh of relief. He felt like he’d been on his feet all day.

He leant back, sinking deeper into the cushions and his muscles began to relax, slowly. A couple of minutes in here, in the darkness and warmth were what he needed. He just had to gather his thoughts before going out there and schmoozing himself a film deal.

He wasn’t alone though. There was a man opposite across the small coffee table. In the darkness of the room, Gabriel didn’t recognize him, but he could well have been one of Kali’s army of assistants or an event planner or even a guest who needed a breather. Gabriel couldn’t blame him.

“You and me both. I love these things. Meeting fans, seeing other authors. It’s great fun! But it’s exhausting. I always feel like I need a holiday afterwards!”

He paused, to breathe and give his companion a chance to reply.

But there was no reply.

Gabriel frowned and leaned forward, to shake the man’s shoulder. “Hullo? You okay?”

The man was stiff, and as Gabriel’s hand touched his shoulder, the head lolled, falling against the back of Gabriel’s hand. The man was cold.

And dead.

 

The guests had all been herded to one end of the room, the one opposite the lounge and the body. The music had stopped but the murmur of conversation had grown even louder.

Gabriel and Kali were still fairly close to the scene, enough to hear what the police officers were saying as they moved in and out of the little room, close enough to see what happened when the medical examiner’s team arrived. It was interesting, to see all this first hand, and Gabriel was trying to take photographs on his phone without being noticed.

It wasn’t easy when Kali paced back and forth in front of him, seething. She was embarrassed, although Gabriel wasn’t really sure why. He doubted that she had killed anyone, and how exactly was it her fault anyway? He’d said that to her, given her a glass of champagne but she’d only given him a pitying look. This is why our marriage failed she said, but she said that about almost everything he did that displeased her. Besides, they’d never had a body found at an event before. He’d never found a body before, full stop.

It was pretty exciting.

Maybe it would even kickstart his desire to write. Anything was possible.

That was when a stressed-looking detective moved towards them. He was wearing a blue shirt under a dark jacket, and he looked good. Apart from the expression on his face, which didn’t look good at all. It spoke of a man who had just been about to clock off after a long week before the call had come through. Gabriel felt sorry for him.

“Gabriel Tricksler?” He asked, glancing at a notebook and then between the two of them. Gabriel stepped forward, offering the most helpful smile he had.

It didn’t seem that the smile had any effect whatsoever on the detective though, his expression unchanging.

“I’m Detective Sam Wesson. I know you’ve already given a statement, but I just wanted to confirm some details.”

“Sure!” Gabriel said, stepping forwards and Kali made a slight movement, as if she was going to follow.

“Alone please, Ms. Ganesh,” Detective Wesson said. “I’ll be back in just a moment.”

And then he turned, ushering Gabriel away. “Kali gets very protective of me. I think it’s some sort of publicist thing.”

“Publicist?” The detective frowned and glanced back down at his notebook. “I was told she was your ex-wife.”

“Ah, ha ha,” Gabriel tried, the laugh a little forced. “She is my ex-wife, but she is also my publicist.”

“I see.” Although the slight raising of his eyebrows plainly stated Detective Wesson thought that was an extremely odd arrangement, and he didn’t “see” at all.

He showed Gabriel to a quiet corner of the lobby, a set of chairs carefully arranged there. It might have been out of the way, but the bustle of police and forensic teams was still clear.

“Please sit down Mr Tricksler. I understand you’re a writer. Are you freelance or with a particular paper?”

Gabriel made a face. “I’m an author. I write crime novels. If I wrote for a paper I would have said I was a journalist.” Maybe that wasn’t the right tone to take. Sam Wesson’s face became a mask, but there was a hint of impatience already in his voice.

“This was a charity function set up by your ex-wife—”

“Publicist.”

“…I’ll need you to give us a full list of all the guests, Mr Tricksler, including those who might not appear on the official list. Any female friends or, say, film studio representatives? We’ll need to speak to everyone.”

Gabriel floundered a moment. The studio weren’t unofficial guests, they were on the down-low but it wasn’t a secret…

“Thank you,” Detective Wesson said before Gabriel even gave an answer. “I also wanted to ask you about the discovery of the body. You were in the lounge, alone with the body for a few minutes before you raised the alarm?”

“I didn’t realise it was a body. It was dark. I thought it was just someone having a nap, you know? I mean, there was champagne and I don’t know about you but my week has been hell so I thought, you know, having a rest somewhere quiet, who can blame him?” Gabriel smiled, a little uneasily, and shifted in his seat.

“So you didn’t touch the body?”

 

“I… I did. I leant forwards, when I was taking to the guy and he didn’t answer and I reached out and… and I touched him and I knew.”

The detective nodded, making a short annotation in his notebook before glancing up again. “I understand you screamed?”

“No comment,” Gabriel said, not willing to admit it. He had screamed, although he refused to acknowledge it may have been a high-pitched, rather pathetic sort of scream.

“Right. And just to clarify, you’ve got no idea who the man was, or why he was there?”

“I can hand-on-my-heart swear I never saw him before. I didn’t recognize him, not even a little. I know it was dark, but that’s the truth. Maybe Kali will know if he was one of the party planner’s team.”

The detective sighed, and then stood, closing his notebook. “Thank you, Mr Tricksler. We may have to contact you again.”

“So… that’s it?” Gabriel asked, frowning. He thought he might at least be taken down to the precinct, shown photos of the dead guy, and be given awful coffee while someone screamed at him to confess. But apparently it only worked like that on TV.

Gabriel walked to the function room with a frown on his face and his hands tucked into his pockets. He still had gum, but he was out of candy. He was just going to have to wait for them to finish talking to Kali. Then he could go back to the apartment, dig into his stash of candy, sit back, and think this whole thing over.

They spent a long time talking to Kali. Longer than he had expected by a longshot. But all he’d done was found the body. Kali had organised the party, the guest list, picked the party planner and overseen everything with her usual iron fist. She was far more likely to know who the dead man was and what he’d been doing there.

He’d got through two sticks of gum before Kali came back into the room with Detective Wesson at her side.

“You’re both free to go. But if we need to ask you anything else, please make yourselves available.”

They were in the car, driving through the streetlamp-lit drizzle by the time they said anything. Gabriel was almost bouncing in his seat, but the way his ex-wife gripped the steering wheel made him wary of saying anything.

But he couldn’t hold his tongue for long.

“Sowhatdidtheyaskyou?” He asked, words pouring out like water from a dam.

Kali rolled her eyes. “The same as they asked you, I should think. If I recognized the man. Was the lounge locked. Was anyone acting suspiciously before you found the body.”

“Was there anyone acting suspiciously?”

“Aside from you? Don’t pull that face. You were the one keeping as much distance as you could from those producers. Anyone would think you don’t want a million-dollar film deal…”

“Does all this mean that the movie is dead-in-the-water?”

Kali laughed, shaking her head. “You know better than that. This will just drum up more publicity. If you had a book ready for release it might be better…”

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Gabriel said, feeling indignant. “You’re the one who’s got me running all over the place to book signings and charity events and talk shows.”

“You’ve handled the pressure before. There’s no excuse.”

He slumped down in the heated seat, watching the buildings flash by as they drove. There was a lot of truth in what she said: he had plenty of time to write between events, he had juggled it all, and, in his own mind, he’d written some of his best work then. He was hardly writing now, but when he did, it felt dry. He was going through the motions, writing because he knew he should be, but he knew, as soon as his editor saw it, they’d rip it apart.

He sighed again, breath fogging the window for a moment and making the glare of the neon lights blurred and eerie. In the shadows he was sure he could see the outline of a man slumped over, but he blinked and they were already turning.

Kali dropped him off with a kiss to his cheek and a promise to call him the next day. She told him to write too, but he shrugged that off. He wasn’t in the mood to write. Not the book he’d started months before anyway. No, Gabriel Tricksler had a new idea. Instead of focusing on a private investigator, he was going to write about a tall, handsome police detective in the city.

He pulled out his phone from his pocket, thumb stroking over the screen until he found the name he needed. He checked his watch, and then pressed dial. “Hi Balthy? It’s Gabe Tricksler…. You heard about that already? Bodies in hotels! I know, I know… Look, Balthy, I was wondering if I could ask you a favour, if you aren’t up to your eyeballs in Mayoral duties…”

 

 

It was impulsive and possibly about to land him in trouble. But everything he did in the name of research was slightly stupid, and some of it was far worse than this. Dinner with the Irish mob had been one of his most ridiculous ideas, although it had all turned out well in the end: he hadn’t been murdered or lost any of his fingers and neither had anyone else, but maybe because it wasn’t polite to do that sort of thing over roasted quail in one of the cities’ most exclusive restaurants.

 

He couldn’t expect food like that in this place, in fact he couldn’t much expect food other than the sort that came out of vending machines. Not that he was complaining. He liked vending machines and the candy that came out of them. Maybe he could get one installed in his apartment. One with occasional surprises like European candy or expensive alcoholic truffles. But he doubted he’d find anything out of the ordinary in a police precinct, and that was why he’d brought his own.

He set the box of fancy pastries and doughnuts down on a free desk—the selection of coffees, too. He couldn’t see the tall, handsome detective that had grilled him at the hotel, although his arrival in the station seemed to have caused something of a stir. There were uniformed and plain-clothes officers peering around at him, one or two of them even craning their necks, getting up from their desks to find out what was going on. Huh, they probably recognized him and were working up the courage for an autograph.

Well, if Detective Wesson wanted to be late, that was his problem, but Gabriel wasn’t going to waste time. “Hello New York’s finest! I’m Gabriel Tricksler, and yes, I will do autographs and photos in a moment! I wanted to introduce myself to you all now, as we’ll be working together for a little while until The Murder of the Sleeping Man is solved. Yes, it is a working title, I’m sure I’ll come up with something better soon.”

He glanced around, at some of the confused faces that had gathered in a loose circle, with him and the coffee and pastries in the middle. “And to thank you for your warm welcome and support, I brought breakfast! Dig in!”

He escaped the wave of hungry cops with a couple of Styrofoam cups of coffee held over his head and a little brown paper bag of pastries held between his teeth, glancing over his shoulder to make sure his bribe was going down well. Maybe he should have been watching where he was going, or maybe he shouldn’t have been bribing the city’s law enforcement officers with baked goodies, but at least the wall or door or whatever he bumped into was wasn’t painful. The pastries were probably damaged beyond recognition, but they’d still taste okay…

Then he bothered to pay attention to what he’d walked into, rather than worrying about his food. It wasn’t a wall or a door or anything inanimate. It was in fact a very annoyed looking detective. Gabriel tried to smile, taking the paper bag from his mouth with two free fingers and trying to look sophisticated. It wasn’t exactly working.

“What are you doing here?” Detective Wesson said, as Gabriel backed up a little, giving the other man back his personal space.

“I’m here to help!” Gabriel said, holding out the coffee. “And I got this for you.”

The coffee was taken, with a look of confusion and then the unimpressed look was back. “I said we’d contact you if we needed to speak to you again, Mr. Tricksler. You can go home now.”

Gabriel tried not to pout. He knew when he was being dismissed and when he wasn’t liked—and right now he knew he was both. “I’m sorry Detective. I’m officially on the case,” he said, and then nodded towards the office at the end of the long room. “Your boss cleared it this morning and the Mayor thinks it’s a great idea. You know, accountability to the public while boosting the department’s PR…”

The detective said nothing. He simply turned on his heel and headed towards the office at the back, knocking politely at the door marked Chief Inspector J. Mills and then stepped inside. The door was shut with an ominous click, and all sound from within became instantly inaudible. There wasn’t much Gabriel could do about that. He simply shrugged and lifted the coffee to his lips, taking a long sip before settling down at the nearest desk. There were files spread over it, folders and bits of paper and then, under a clipboard was some photographs. With a surreptitious look around, he pulled the photos free. They were from the Park Hotel, and most were of the little lounge room and the body he’d found.

Frankly they made him feel a little bit ill, but they were interesting nonetheless. He frowned, going through them as he sipped at his coffee, until a shadow fell over the desk. He looked up, and then up a little bit more.

“Ah, Detective! Has everything been smoothed over?”

“Get out of my chair,” the man replied, taking the photographs from Gabriel’s hands. “As far as I’m concerned you’re a member of the public and a potential suspect. But the mayor has vouched for you and the chief seems to think that babysitting you is a great use of resources.”

With that, the tall man folded himself into the chair Gabriel had vacated.

“I’m not here to make your job harder. I found a dead guy. I want to make sure he gets justice. Besides, I write crime novels! I should at least get a taste for how the professionals do things, shouldn’t I?”

 

 

It was clear that no matter what he said or what he did, Detective Wesson wasn’t going to warm up to him any time soon. Jokes about the quality of the station’s coffee didn’t go down well at all, but Wesson had found the latte Gabriel had paid $8 for again, and was sipping it distractedly as he went over paperwork.

“You know,” Gabriel said, trying to break the silence that had descended ever since Wesson had accepted his little speech. He’d not done it gracefully, but like a man who had seen what his future had in store, which was being demoted to traffic patrol if he didn’t do what his chief and the mayor wanted. Maybe it was unfair and manipulative, but Gabriel was sure the detective would get over it.

“You know,” He said again, “I thought that there was more to solving crime than this. I thought there was more evidence gathering and good cop-bad cop than sitting around.”

Sam looked up, his lips gathering into a thin, unimpressed line. “I’m waiting for more information so we can proceed, Mr. Tricksler. Real police work isn’t rooftop chases and riddles. Most murders aren’t premeditated, they’re spur-of-the-moment and they are easy to solve.”

“That doesn’t get me into the bestseller charts,” Gabriel pouted.

“No, but it means I get the weekend off sometimes—” The detective stopped then, setting down his coffee as a tall man in a leather jacket and a redheaded lady approached. “There are two officers I’d like you to meet, Mr. Tricksler, if you’re serious about watching us work. This is Detective Dean Smith, who transferred from Vice, and this is Detective Charlie Bradbury. Detectives, this is Gabriel Tricksler.”

The man shaking Gabriel’s hand just then, evidently Detective Smith, frowned as he looked him over. “Witness Gabriel Tricksler?”

“The one and the same!” Gabriel replied cheerfully. “But as I’m not a suspect, the chief has been very kind in letting me sit in on this one, and getting some real-life inspiration for my next book.”

“Wait. You mean Gabriel Tricksler, like the author Gabriel Tricksler? You wrote the Ryder series?”

Gabriel turned a big, pleased smile towards Detective Bradbury. “You liked them?”

She gave an embarrassed laugh. “I’ve been meaning to read them. They’re in a pile of books that I’ve got through and they’re somewhere in the middle…”

“Join the club! I keep telling myself that I can’t buy any more but then people send me books and you just have to get just one because it’s sounds so good, and by the time you realise what’s happening, you’ve added another ten,” Gabriel agreed, feeling a spark of kinship as the detective smiled brightly in understanding.

At least Charlie seemed friendly. Gabriel could just about cope if there was one person to grin when he made a joke. Otherwise the next few days (or however long this took) was going to be completely awful.

“So what do you have for us?” Wesson said, settling back down.

Detective Smith sighed. “We’ve gone back through the witness statements and no one seemed to spot when our victim entered the room. The event organisers say that he wasn’t one of theirs, and the room wasn’t locked, so he could have come in anytime. They started setting up at about 3 pm, caterers arrived at 5 pm, first guests at 7:30 pm. There were a lot of people around.”

“We’re hoping Hotel surveillance cameras will be of more use. They’re pulling yesterday afternoon for us; should be here soon.”

“Wow, you guys are organised,” Gabriel said appreciatively. “So first things first, if I’m going to help you solve this case—”

“You aren’t helping us, you’re an observer.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes at Sam’s words but continued anyway, “I want to see the body.”

“Sounds fair. Got to get you up to speed,” Dean said, with a strange enthusiasm he’d not shown before.

Charlie gave him what was meant to be a surreptitious sort of nudge . “Have you ever seen a body before Mr. Tricksler?”

“Not in so many words, no. But I spent most of my last book signing tour watching NCIS reruns.”

“That’s not exactly the same…” Charlie began, sounding a little doubtful.

“Oh, come off it. It’s only a body,” Dean said, turning to head downstairs. “This way.”

Gabriel followed, with Charlie alongside and Detective Wesson silently following. He was radiating unhappiness, but was trying to maintain some sort of professionalism. They headed down the stairs, away from the plush offices of the homicide team, past vice and then down through the main lobby.

It wasn’t as cold down here as Gabriel had expected. Temperature-wise, anyway. The pale walls and steel tables weren’t exactly welcoming, and the pathologist himself was a strange, unblinking man with messy hair and an ill-fitting suit. His tie was all over the place.

“This is Castiel Novak. He’s our resident ME,” Charlie said, grinning at the man in the labcoat. He tried to smile back but his attention was caught by Dean who came in a second later, and it was then the smile stopped part way, as if the doctor had forgotten all about his facial muscles and what they were doing.

“Cas, this is Gabriel Tricksler. He’s a crime writer, and he’s sitting in on the murder from the Park Hotel,” Charlie continued, trying to regain the ME’s attention.

Gabriel held out his hand, with the usual pleasantries, and Castiel shook it, awkwardly. Gabriel couldn’t help but wonder if he was used to feeling human skin that was warm, and that set him to wondering where else those hands had been.

He shuddered and tried to put that thought to the back of his mind.

“Have we got any results back yet from the autopsy?” Detective Wesson asked, coming up behind them.

“I am still waiting for the toxicology results,” Castiel said, having dropped Gabriel’s hand as fast as he could, and turned on his heel. There was a wall of cabinets on the far side of the room, and Doctor Novak pulled one of the small square doors open, and then pulled out the occupied tray from inside.

The police officers moved forward, just as Gabriel made the smallest of steps backwards, bumping into Detective Wesson with an “oof”.

“You can wait outside,” the tall man said, with a tone that implied he wasn’t surprised by Gabriel’s discomfort.

“No. I…” Gabriel began, and then mentally shook himself. He wrote horrible gory details into his books, he could deal with one body. “I want to stay. Go on, don’t stop on my account.”

The detective shrugged, and Castiel pulled back the sheet covering the man Gabriel had found the night before. Gabriel wished he hadn’t had that second choux bun on the way in. He could feel it trying to crawl back up his throat.

“There was no indication of a struggle, no fresh bruising—although there is a bruise just below the left knee that is several days old.”

“Probably knocked into something.”

“I concur. I don’t believe it is connected to his death. There was some unusual discolouration of the lips and tongue, which leads me to believe a toxin was used. However as I stated, the results are not yet with me. There were no stab wounds, bullets or other impact marks on the body,” he paused then, moving to pull an arm free of the sheet. “But there is something of note, as I pointed out to Detective Smith last night—”

“When we were at the scene,” Dean pointed out quickly, although Gabriel had no idea why. Wesson simply rolled his eyes.

“…Yes, when we were at the scene,” Castiel confirmed, slowly as if he didn’t understand why it needed to be said, “That there seems to be a adhesive residue on the wrists. Perhaps that was used to stop the victim moving too much during death. However I would suggest that death occurred elsewhere and the body was placed at the scene.”

“Who the hell would do that?” Gabriel asked, agog. Why place a body there, where it was sure to be found, and fairly quickly too. “The killer wanted it to be discovered.” He answered his own question, and Charlie and Dean both nodded.

“Do we know who he was?” Gabriel added.

“There wasn’t a wallet in his effects, but there was a business card in his jacket pocket for one Alan Grosvenor, a small-time antique dealer. We’re checking the records to see if he’s our victim,” Dean said, “And we’re running dentals too. Fingerprints weren’t on file.”

 

 

“Go on, put on the sirens.”

“No.”

“Please? I’ve never been a police car while the sirens were going.”

“Now why does that surprise me?” Wesson murmured, but not softly enough to prevent Gabriel hearing. “But the answer is still no.”

Gabriel sighed, leaning back in the seat as they headed across town, back to the hotel. Detective Wesson had pulled the short straw apparently, as Charlie and Dean drove together behind them, the sound from Dean’s speakers blaring out and audible even with their own windows up. Not that Gabriel was complaining; he liked Asia.

They pulled up to the hotel quickly enough. There was still a marked car on the sidewalk outside with an officer by the door. Sam greeted him as they went through, where a man in a very expensive suit was waiting for them. Gabriel vaguely remembered him as one of the managers, who had bustled about the previous afternoon while they set up the party. He had been happy to help then, but now he looked less than pleased.

“We’ve had to cancel all our functions today, Detective Wesson. The Park is happy to help as much as we can, but we need use of our ballroom as soon as possible.”

“I understand Mr. Alder. We’ll let you know when we are done with the scene. My colleague Detective Bradbury is here for the security footage from last night.”

“Yes, of course. Please follow me, Detective.”

And with that Charlie disappeared into a staff-only door, and Sam headed back towards the ballroom. There was tape across the doorway, which he ducked under with a lot more grace than Gabriel managed, despite having considerably further to bend. Dean was smirking, barely able to keep from laughing aloud as Gabriel tried to look a little refined as he recovered from his near-stumble.

Then he looked around. The room as empty, the tables still scattered around, glasses and plates left where they had been put. But it was easy to remember how it looked before he’d found the body and chaos had descended. There had been people everywhere, bustling about in evening dresses and tuxedos, making small talk.

He frowned as Wesson stepped across his line of sight, ruining the memory and the ghosts of his guests. “You know what would be good? One of those crime reconstruction things.”

“You mean on TV?” Dean said, giving him a look. “We don’t need to do an appeal for information.”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant reenact it, ourselves. Now. It’d be really helpful.” Gabriel was already heading towards the door of the lounge, the other two following. He didn’t need to look to see their expressions. They thought he was mad. “I’m a writer. Trust me, if you play out a scene you see how it works and honestly, it will help. Besides, high-and-mighty Detective Wesson still thinks I should have noticed the guy was dead.”

There was a noise of protest from behind but Gabriel cut that off. “So Detective, you can be our murder victim!” He said, nodding towards Sam and moving a folding chair to the place where the couches had been. Clearly they’d been taken away for testing or something, Gabriel thought. “That means you sit here. Slump a bit. That’s it, you’re a natural corpse,” he said when the tall man had settled down and slouched. Gabriel gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “For this demonstration, you don’t need to be dead, which is a good thing!”

He took a deep breath, and moved back to the door. “The main light was off. It was just those dim little lights over there that were on.” And then he flicked the lightswitch, throwing the room into near darkness, save for the weak glow from the bulbs above the fireplace. It took several moments for their eyes to adjust, but when they did, Gabriel was gone and the door was shut.

“What the—” Dean began, and Sam began to sit up, when the door opened and Gabriel stepped in. “Guys. Guys. Did you ever do acting at school? Please. Atmosphere. Let’s try this again.”

The next time he stepped into the room, they were ready. The author slumped into a chair and sighed, stretching and wiggling to get comfortable. Then he paused, and frowned.

“You know what’s weird?” He said suddenly, after a moment, and Detective Wesson grunted, getting up out the chair.

“Turn the lights on Dean,” he said, ready to brush off Gabriel and his ridiculous ideas getting in their way. They didn’t need to be followed everywhere and their investigation slowed down. Chief Mills and Mayor Milton clearly thought it would improve the force’s reputation, but that wasn’t Sam’s concern, his job was enforcing the law, not babysitting celebrities.

“No, wait. Seriously,” Gabriel was saying, springing to his feet and appearing right in front of Sam, face to face. Well, face to chest. “Honestly. This is weird. It’s like the murder in the first book I wrote.”

“Why didn’t you tell us before?”

“Hey! It was a long time ago. I haven’t even looked at it since the final edit went through. But it is, I swear! John Doe dumped in a hotel during a big party full of bigwigs, discovered by our hero! It’s just like it.”

Detective Wesson looked sceptical.

“It’s true! Honest! Jacob Ryder finds the body in an annex and there’s no ID or anything. He’s accused of the murder but of course they clear him and then he goes on to solve it,” he pauses, and then adds, “I should have said spoiler alert. Sorry. But it could be some crazy serial killer guy, going around murdering people based on my books! Really!”

Dean stepped forwards, looking at the other police man. “It’s stupid but… Do you think it’s possible?”

Sam sighed. “No. I think it’s ridiculous. But we have to keep an open mind.”

That was when the door opened, and Charlie stepped in with a memory stick held between her fingers, silhouetted against the light from the next room. There was a pause, her words puzzled. “”Er, guys? Why are you all sitting around in the dark?”

Dean cleared his throat, embarrassed, flicking the lights back on. “Reconstructing the crime scene.” He muttered.

“Don’t you have enough photos of it at the Station? We can head back and go through the footage too. I’ve got a copy of everything from the party-planners arriving to when we got here.”

“Great! We’ll see the face of our serial killer!” Gabriel said, the excitement evident in his voice.

“Serial killer?” Charlie repeated.

“Mr Tricksler thinks that the murder looks like the way the victim in his first book was killed,” Dean told her, and Charlie’s eyes lit up.

“Really? Wow,” she said, tucking the USB stick away safely. “Although there’s no proof he’s a serial killer. This is just one murder. It might just be a coincidence.”

“A coincidence that an author finds a body just like a murder in his books?” Gabriel pointed out, and the three police officers looked at each other.

Finally, Detective Wesson broke the silence. “That’s it. Charlie, back to the station. I want that footage looked over. Dean, I want you to finish formal identification of our victim. We can entertain wild theories as much as we want, but unless we have some evidence, we aren’t going to make any conviction stick.”

The two nodded, heading back out towards the lobby and their car. As soon as they were out the room though, and what they considered to be out of earshot, they erupted into conversation. The words crazy fan and serial killer were certainly audible. Wesson rolled his eyes, and then turned his attention to Gabriel.

“Is this where you tell me you think I’m in danger and I need to stay with you overnight?” Gabriel said, the words bypassing his brain completely as they hurtled out of his mouth.

Whatever Sam Wesson was expecting him to say, it clearly wasn’t that, and he cleared his throat uncomfortably. “No. No that wasn’t it. I was going to ask you to hold back on the guessing games and stupid ideas. I’ve got two of the city’s best detectives going mad over your conspiracies. Try and keep a lid on it, okay?”

Gabriel’s face twisted into a grimace. “Okay. Okay. You know what Wesson? Your chief said you were her best. And I can believe that. So I guess I’m playing your rules. I want to see this through. That is, if you don’t think I’m a suspect?”

Wesson looked at him, a slight frown forming on his face again. He was really good looking when he didn’t frown, but it almost seemed to be his default expression, and despite being a good few years younger than Gabriel (who was happy not to put a figure on exactly how much younger) those frown furrows were really in deep.

“I guess I don’t think you’re a suspect.”

“Exactly! I don’t have any motives. Maybe opportunity, but no motives. And maybe means. I mean, I kill people on paper all the time but in practise? Nah. Although I’d say I was pretty good with poisons, and hypothetical stabbings. And maybe I’ve considered killing a couple of editors before.”

Wesson even laughed slightly then. “That isn’t convincing me not to treat you as a suspect.” But then his phone was ringing and he pulled it from his pocket, holding a finger up to signal Gabriel to keep quiet.

“Detective Wesson—” he began, and then nodded, making encouraging noises down the phone. “Right. Be there in fifteen,” he said and then snapped the phone shut.

“We’re heading back to the station. Castiel has information for us.”

“Awesome! Although… maybe I could sit out on that and… go get us all lunch instead? It’s gotta be lunch time soon.”

Sam shook his head but was smiling slightly. “I don’t think Charlie or Dean would have a problem with that.”

Gabriel breathed a sigh of relief and had Sam drop him around the corner from the precinct to pick up lunch. He didn’t need to go down to the morgue again, into the cold room full of creepy things in deep-freeze. He picked up food and dawdled back, humming to himself. A wink and joke with the officer at the front desk even saw one of the newer uniformed officers helping him carry one of the bags up to homicide, where the trio of detectives were already stood around Sam’s desk.

“So, what’s up?” He asked, as the bags were set down and the smell of hot food wafted through the office. Dean didn’t bother to wait, digging in to the nearest bag and pulling out a carefully wrapped gourmet burger.

“Castiel had the toxicology results,” Charlie began, with a grin that she couldn’t possibly hide. “And I think you’ll get a kick out of this. Cyanide poisoning.”

“What?” Gabriel’s face contorted in disgust, “Who uses cyanide nowadays?”

“That isn’t how the victim dies in your book?” Sam said, although he didn’t seem disappointed by the fact like Charlie did.

“No! He was poisoned yeah, but by this cool Tibetan… Maybe I shouldn’t spoil the story, I mean, you guys are going to read it, right?”

“Well as it no longer seems that the murders are based on your book, then I don’t think we have to do it as part of the case,” Sam said, only now looking through the bags of food before frowning. “Did you get anything healthy at all?”

“Er, there’s a veggie burger and a side salad somewhere?”

 

 

There was a good hour or maybe even more after lunch where Sam simply shifted through paperwork while Dean and Charlie did real police work, or at least that was how Gabriel thought of it. He wasn’t allowed to go with them, like a naughty child who had to stay inside while his friends got to play.

Gabriel was entertaining himself by taking selfies, with Sam in the background working on various files and folders and making calls. It was when Sam threatened to confiscate Gabriel’s phone that he decided to stick to people-watching the other officers, and then when that became boring, he started doodling.

He was doing a rather good rendition of a cat when he felt eyes on him. It was Sam, holding out a coffee towards him.

With a surprised thank you, Gabriel took the mug and swallowed some of the contents, before a smile spread over his face. “Huh, seven sugars. How’d you guess?”

Sam laughed, sitting down. “It wasn’t hard. When you had a coffee this morning, and I read it off the side. Seven sugars, extra milk, extra flavour syrups. Do you still have all your own teeth?”

Gabriel flashed him a smug toothy grin. “Every last one. But I should have known it was detective-ing, not mind reading. Still, I’m impressed. Most people don’t notice stuff like that. Is that why you became a cop? This extra-sensory detail-spotting skill?”

Sam shook his head, settling more comfortably in his own seat. “Well, no. I did want to be a lawyer, when I was a kid. Was going to law school but…” Then he stopped, and Gabriel sensed that some of the distance was seeping back between them.

“Catching the bad guys and putting it all together more your style than presenting it to a jury afterwards?”

“Not exactly. My mom was murdered.”

Gabriel hadn’t been expecting that, and for a moment he floundered, not sure what to say beyond, “Hell, I’m sorry Sam. I didn’t know.”

Sam shook his head. “Thanks. It’s okay. Anyway. Why did you become a best-selling crime novelist?”

Gabriel paused, trying to work out where to start. “You know… I don’t really know? I was an English Major and writing just seemed natural. I didn’t start out as a novelist. I wanted to be like Lois Lane, you know, investigative crime-busting journalist? Kicking ass and taking names. But there weren’t many crimes to investigate back home, so I started making it up. Besides, I don’t look good in a pencil skirt and heels.”

Sam made a face, half way between a smile and a grimace. “So where’s back home?”

Gabriel laughed, “Fishing for more backstory?”

The detective shrugged, unashamed. “You’re interesting.”

“And still a suspect?”

“Like I said, maybe not a suspect anymore. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to find out more about you. Somehow I think if you tell me, I’ll get more of an answer than the so-called facts on your Wikipedia page.”

“Didn’t you like my edits?”

“I don’t believe that you once dated Michelle Pfeiffer.”

Gabriel leaned in, raising an eyebrow and trying to look suave, “If I met her, I’m sure she’d agree to go on a date with me.”

Sam couldn’t hold back the laugh then, the noise escaping and he had to put his cup down to keep it from spilling as his shoulders shook. Whether it was the strange expression on Gabriel’s face, the claim, or the man in general, or maybe a combination, Sam couldn’t help but find him hilarious.


	3. The Riddle of the Suit Trousers

Gabriel returned the next day with a tray of four large coffees and a paper bag containing breakfast, not only for himself, but his three favorite detectives. Charlie was already in when he arrived, perched on the edge of her desk and flipping through a file.

“You’re here early. I guess the others will have their breakfast cold,” he said as he set everything down, handing her the latte with a smile and then passing the bag.

With a noise of hunger and delight, she reached in and pulled out the wax paper-wrapped breakfast burrito, taking a mouthful.

“You know, I’m always jealous when people have these at work,” she said, quickly chewing and swallowing that first bite. “I mean, Pop-Tarts are great but this is just…” She made another happy noise, Gabriel’s stomach rumbling in answer.

He had no choice but to grab his own, sitting on the edge of the desk and looking up at the white board that stood in front of them.

“So what’s new?” He asked her, glancing over the board. It had been updated, information scrawled on it in what he remembered from yesterday as Dean’s handwriting. Certain words were legible, but others were so scrunched up they looked like one long squiggle, and Gabriel gave up on squinting at it fairly quickly.

“We got a positive ID on the vic from dental records. It was Alan Grosvenor, from upstate. Dean informed the family yesterday afternoon, after you left. He’d been away on one of his regular business trips, and hadn’t called the family since arriving on Monday morning.”

“Didn’t they think that was weird?”

“Apparently not. He wasn’t much for checking in. He was here to meet a client and pick up some antiques. We’re still trying to find out who this client is. But we’re going over to the hotel he was staying in later today, I’m pretty sure Sam will bring you along.”

“Bring him along where?” Sam said from behind them, pulling off his coat and hanging it up on the back of his chair.

“We found the vic’s hotel. It’s not the Park, but only a few blocks away,” Charlie said, wiping ketchup from her chin with a finger before licking it off. “Sorry.”

Sam rolled his eyes, and picked up his own breakfast burrito with a slight frown. “You know, this really isn’t good for you,” he began, before unwrapping it gingerly and taking a small bite.

“But it’s tasty, which is the point,” Gabriel countered. Charlie agreed empathically, chewing loudly.

Sam sighed and gave in, taking another bite and glancing over their board, at the scruffy writing and the wobbly lines. That was when there was the ring of the elevator arriving on their floor.

“They’re doing it again,” Charlie said as she glanced over, and Sam silently shifted, leaning to watch whatever it was.

“Who’s doing what?” Gabriel said, peering to see.

“Cas and Dean. Trying to look like they aren’t coming in together. Pretend you didn’t notice,” Charlie added, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, a little smile tugging at her lips.

“Huh?”

“They don’t think we know about them,” Sam explained. “It’s against department rules to date someone else who works here. So just…” He paused, as if about to say, act natural, but it was clear he didn’t think Gabriel was capable of keeping it secret. “Just don’t say anything at all.”

They’d all relaxed back into more casual positions and were trying to chat by the time Dean made it up to their desks and greeted them. The deception would have worked too, if he had not been carrying Castiel’s coat.

But none of them mentioned it, although Charlie was clearly fighting the urge, munching her way through the breakfast burrito to keep her mouth full.

“We got you one too,” Gabriel said, offering the last one out and Dean eyed it with longing. But that was when Castiel arrived, speaking quietly with Sam.

Dean seemed to glance his way before he swallowed and answered. “Er… thanks. But I had breakfast already. Healthy, start-the-day-well stuff.”

 

 

The hotel their victim had stayed in really wasn’t like the classy Park Hotel where his body had been found. There was no jacuzzi tub or stylish state-of-the-art touch screen TVs. The carpet was slightly stained and the furniture was the sort that had probably been on trend in the early eighties, when it had been bought. It was well cared for, but the whole place was drab and faded.

It wasn’t unpleasant, not really, but it was that sort of mid-range hotel that always promised a bit more than it could deliver. Gabriel hated it and knew that he was being snobbish. But he couldn’t help it.

The maids had been in to make the bed of course, probably in the morning on the day the body had been discovered. But his belongings were still where he’d left them: suitcase on the sideboard near the coffee pot, a scatter of papers on the desk. The occupant might have just gone out for a few minutes.

The detectives were already pulling on gloves, and Dean was moving purposefully towards the desk, shaking out an evidence bag. Charlie moved to the suitcase, and Sam went to the closet, looking through the shirts within.

“Er… what can I do?”

“You can look around and not touch anything,” Dean called over his shoulder. “Just shout if you spot something.”

Gabriel made a face, but did what he was told, stepping forwards and giving the place the once over. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for. Something obvious always jumped out at this point, that was how it worked in his books. And every other crime story ever.

But there was nothing. Under the bed looked like it had been vacuumed, the suitcase was empty of anything useful, the closet was clean and the safe inside was untouched. The papers on the desk might have contained something, but they looked mostly like receipts and photocopies of reports from antique authentication services. They spent a few more minutes in the room, but there seemed little else to find.

“You win some, you lose some,” Charlie said as she peeled off her gloves. “Sometimes you find something that brings it all together, most of the time you don’t.”

“I understand. It’s just a little disappointing,” Gabriel said, shrugging as they stepped out in the hallway and Sam locked the door after them, putting the key into his pocket. “I guess I expected real police work to be as romantic as the books.”

“It’s not exactly romantic in books either,” Dean pointed out. “Just cooler.”

“Hey!” Charlie butted in, “I’m a cool cop, thank you.”

They were laughing by the time they reached the stairs, heading down to the lobby. But Sam paused just behind Gabriel, glancing back towards the room.

“What is it?”

“Something just doesn’t sit right,” Sam muttered, before shaking his head and going down. Gabriel knew what he meant. There was something odd, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

Charlie was at the reception desk, advising the woman there that the investigation was ongoing, and they’d be back later on for the rest of the man’s effects. No one was to go in before they were finished.

Dean wasn’t going to wait around though, stepping out onto the street. Gabriel went with him, towards the kiosk on the corner.

“I should have taken that breakfast thing you brought,” he was saying as he reached into his pocket for his wallet.

That was when it struck. Inspiration, like lightning, but not for another scene or swathe of dialogue. Gabriel turned on his heel, running back towards the hotel door where Charlie and Sam were just emerging.

“Wallet!” He gasped, cursing himself for being so unhealthy. “There was no wallet in the room or on the body!”

Charlie smiled brightly at him. “We might make you into a police officer yet. That’s what Sam just said.”

“There wasn’t one handed in at reception. So it probably wasn’t dropped in the hotel. Whoever killed him might have taken it. They may have dumped it with anything else Grosvenor had on him.”

“Or kept it as a prize,” Dean said from behind them, between mouthfuls of bagel. “What? He still might be a serial killer.”

Sam ignored the comment. “Once Detective Hobbit…”

“Detective Hobbit?” Dean repeated, insulted, shoving the rest of the bagel into his mouth and speaking around it.

“Gross. Don’t speak with your mouth full of food, Mr. Second Breakfast,” Charlie said.

“As I was saying,” Sam said pointedly as Gabriel grinned, “Once Dean has finished stuffing himself, we’ll search the vicinity. If the killer accosted our victim and took the body to the Park Hotel, then it probably happened around here.”

“I’ll look into the traffic cameras, see if they can spot anything in between the two. Maybe we’ll have some luck,” Charlie said, already reaching for her phone.

Gabriel was given a pair of gloves and an evidence bag of his own as they began to search. He felt a buzz go through him, a wave of excitement that he couldn’t explain, although it did come close to the rush he felt when the end of a book was in sight.

“Dean and I will take the other side of the street,” Sam said, “You two take this. Wallet, phone, briefcase, anything. Bag and tag.”

Charlie have a mock salute and led Gabriel away down the street, glancing into narrow alleyways and dead ends. There was a locked dumpster, but even with a good shake, it wasn’t coming open. They left it alone and continued. There were tire tracks in the dirt and, up ahead, the kitchen doors of the hotel. No doubt their deliveries came back and forth this way.

“So Mr. Writer, if you were a murderer, kidnapping someone to kill them and put their body somewhere weird, would you snatch them on this street?”

“Only if I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to be seen.”

She nodded, “Same. And I’m not saying I think you killed him, by the way.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. But you’d do it in a side street, wouldn’t you?”

“I think this goes around the back of the whole block and out on the next,” Charlie said, peering forwards. It certainly seemed that way.

“You could always grab someone, haul them into a van, drive around here, and toss out their stuff before escaping onto the next street. Or even offer them a lift.”

“You could,” Charlie said, continuing forwards, digging a flashlight out of her jacket pocket to peer into the darkness. They searched for a few minutes, in silence, before Charlie called out. “There!”

She pointed, a flash of something glinting in the beam of the flashlight. It was the screen of a cell phone. It was dirty, the screen smashed, but it was there, and a wallet lay next to it. Gabriel picked it up carefully, opening it and pulling out a New York State driver’s licence.

“Mr. Alan Albert Grosvenor,” he said, showing it to her. “So I guess the phone is his too.”

It was half an hour later when Dean took the last of the photographs, glancing at the LED screen before making sure they were all saved. Charlie was filling in the details on the evidence bags, Sam and Gabriel stood back.

“So the theory is that the victim was snatched or coerced into a vehicle on the street, which came down here to toss away his effects and then continued on to the Park Hotel?” Dean said as he made his way back towards them.

“Something like that,” Charlie agreed. “There’s nowhere to turn on this street, not without the risk of being seen. Heading back up that alley would be the best route. There are stoplights and camera further up the main street, and traffic works, too, closer to the park.”

“Hopefully some of the CCTV systems around here will be able to confirm some of this,” Sam said, pushing his hair back from his face.

“You should just get that mop cut,” Dean smirked, pulling the keys out of his pocket. “Race you back to the precinct!”

“Charlie, please make sure he doesn’t kill anyone. I can’t handle the extra paperwork,” Sam said, and Charlie nodded as she sprinted off behind Dean.

“I’ve seen his driving. I’m surprised he’s insured,” Gabriel said as he followed Sam to the other car.

“He was undercover with Vice for seven years. I think old habits die hard,” Sam said, folding himself into the driver’s seat.

“Sam?”

“Hmm?”

“You think we’re close to solving this?”

Sam sighed. “We’d have been much better off it there had been some more forensic evidence at the scene. But I think we’re getting closer. These crimes… this isn’t TV land. They can take weeks of hard work, sometimes with no results for days Gabriel. You work all the angles you can. We’ll solve it.”

“Good."

 

 

Despite the phone and the wallet being found though, the case wasn’t suddenly “busted wide open” in fact, it really seemed to Gabriel that they’d come to a dead end. They were sent down to forensics to examine, but back in it he precinct, there was little activity.

“We’ll hopefully get prints off them and that will give us a suspect,” Charlie told Gabriel as he sulked over a comic book. He had been so certain that the finds would help them, that they’d have proper suspects and get to start interviewing. “It takes time. There are other cases going on and we have to wait for everything to be checked out. And then we have to find matches.”

“And that isn’t going to be ‘till tomorrow,” Dean piped in, turning in his chair and wheeling himself over to Charlie’s desk, where they were gathered. “Don’t worry. We’re only a couple of days in. We’ll have everything we need to catch the nut and find out why he did it.”

“Have you had any luck with motive yet?” Sam called. He was going over his case notes, tapping away at his keyboard and frowning to himself. They’d tried to engage him in a bit of conversation, and Gabriel had tried to bribe him with mentions of ordering food for the Scooby Gang, but to no avail. Sam intended to work, and probably past a sensible time to get off.

Dean sighed and pushed himself back to his own desk. “I’ve been going over those papers. By the looks of it Grosvenor was doing the pawn shop round and looking for cheap antiques to sell off at a profit.”

“There’s nothing really wrong with that, is there?” Gabriel asked, sitting up a little. Part of him, secretly, deep down, would be more than happy if this all turned out to be coincidence, and had nothing to do with him or his books. He could help the NYPD crack the case, and then go back to living in peace.

“Not as far as the law is concerned, but what if he bought something rare, something really expensive, and cheated some pawn shop owner out of a lot of money? Let’s face it, you and me both know some of those guys get ugly,” Charlie said.

“Yeah, but not normally when they’re selling stuff. It’s with the other sort of clientele they get rough with. But if he’d found a masterpiece and snapped it up for a tenth of its value, maybe then…” Dean mused, leaning back in his chair and chewing a pen.

“What if it wasn’t all above board?” Gabriel asked suddenly, Charlie and Dean pricked up their ears. “I mean, come on. Why make these business trips? He’s an antiques dealer. I’m pretty sure upstate can’t be that hungry for antiques that he has to come into town every couple of months. Maybe…” His eyes darted back and forth between the two detectives, “Maybe it’s something more sinister. He’s smuggling. Picking up treasures stolen by the Nazis, brought over from Europe hidden in the bows of ships, and he’s hiding them upstate out of the way of the FBI until they can be sold.”

From the desk behind them, Sam snorted derisively.

“What, Sasquatch? You got any better suggestions?”

“No,” Sam replied, and that made Gabriel smile with self-satisfaction.

“Then I might be right.”

“Dean? Share with our esteemed observer Mr. Grosnervor’s financials,” Sam said, going back to his computer.

Dean did, grabbing the file and wheeling himself back to his colleagues again. “Whatever Grosvenor was doing, he wasn’t earning huge piles of cash from it,” he said, pulling out a handful of bank statements. “Going back the past couple of years his business has been doing okay, but there’ve been some tough times. If he was into something Gabe, I think there’d be more money in his account. Or some interesting transfers.”

“There’s nothing?”

“Nope. Guy looks clean,” Dean said, dropping the papers down on Charlie’s desk.

Gabriel sighed and slumped forwards, cushioning his head on his arms. “This sucks,” he moaned, and Charlie laughed, patting his back.

“Don’t worry. We’ll do it. Why don’t you head home? You need some R&R…”

“Or D&D,” Dean suggested.

“Or D&D. But there’s not much more we can do this afternoon. We’ll start bright and early tomorrow!”

 

 

He could order pizza less often he supposed as he carried the garbage to the back alley behind the apartments. Less pizza, less chinese, less tacos, less, well, everything. He could start cooking, then he’d have fewer cartons to haul down the stairs. Maybe he could just move to an apartment with a garbage chute, but that would involve moving. Maybe he could just get a cleaner who could come in more than twice a week. Hells, he had the money, he could get a butler.

Gabriel got to the ground floor and slumped against the wall, the black trash bag banging on the tiles. And leaking against his sneakers. He slumed back a little harder and slid down a little. It just wasn’t going to be his day, not in any sense. But moping about it wasn’t going to help him draft out a plot, and letting garbage juice leak all over his shoes wasn’t helping.

He picked up the bag again, holding it away from himself, and went to the door leading out into the alley. It was dark, and cold, and even the familiar sounds of the city couldn’t prevent a shudder as he crept down the steps.

For a second, he contemplated just tossing the bag across the alley and hightailing it back inside, back to his nice warm apartment and his laptop and his very comfortable chair. But in his mind’s eye, a very handsome and extremely annoyed Sam Wesson told him littering was a felony, and that his apartment building had a dumpster for a reason. Gabriel cursed again, and made his way down to the last step, and then across the muddy, slippery alley.

The smell from the dumpster was horrific, and for a moment he considered how much it would cost to pay someone to clean it. He held his breath and dropped the trash in.

Letting go of the dumpster lid, he turned, ready to run back inside but that was when he saw it.

He really wished he hadn’t. He told himself he was seeing things.

But prodding it gently with a toe confirmed it.

Underneath a pile of trash bags there was a leg. A human leg, in suit pants and with polished shoes.

 

 

Sam Wesson did not look pleased. For a start, it had started to rain and it was dark. He could have been home, he could have finished reading his book. He could have done one of the hundred things he would rather have done on his time off, including have a drink with his colleagues. This was just something he had to put up with in his line of work, but seeing the nervous figure of Gabriel Tricksler at the mouth of the alleyway when he arrived didn’t make matters much easier.

“Who told you about this?” He demanded, looking beyond Gabriel briefly, to watch as the crime scene team taped off the public, and sacks of trash were carefully being removed.

“Er…” Gabriel began, and then made an unhappy noise. “I found this one too?”

Sam blinked, for a moment unable to believe what he had heard and finding Gabriel’s uneasy movements far too much of a distraction. Why couldn’t the man keep still? It was suspicious. And that was when Sam wondered if he’d been too quick to remove Gabriel Tricksler from the list of suspects.

“And what were you doing rooting around in an alleyway? Actively searching for bodies?”

“No!” Gabriel said, almost shrill. “This is my building! I was taking out the trash and honestly, all I did was put the stuff in the dumpster and turn around and there was this leg. And I lifted up the trash and there was the other one,” he shuddered. “I really hope they’re attached to something.”

“I should imagine they still are,” Castiel called out to him as he approached, wrapped in a tan trench coat and flanked by Charlie and Dean. “Why dump both legs together if you’ve bothered to dismember a body? Although it would be interesting if they weren’t.”

Sam watched Gabriel go slightly paler than he already was and felt a little sorry for him. But not by much. Dean and Castiel had already ducked beneath the police tape, striding towards the body together as if Sam didn’t exist at all. “Charlie, will you get the rest of Mr. Tricksler’s statement?” He said, before lifting the tape and heading towards the others.

Castiel was not always at home with the living. That had been Sam’s understanding since the first time he’d met the young ME, and he had come to terms with it.The dead couldn’t judge Castiel for his lack of social finesse, and he seemed to understand humans much more readily when looking at them on a slab. Of course, that didn’t mean Sam didn’t think Castiel was decidedly odd. Everyone did. Even Dean, who seemed to be the person Castiel was closest to, still had occasions where he despaired.

“Oh god Castiel—” Dean’s voice came right on cue as Sam approached. “We don’t sniff bodies!”

“Why not?” Castiel replied when Sam crouched down besides them.

“What have we got?”

The ME leaned up, away from the suit-wearing body of a man who looked very much similar in age to the other body Gabriel Tricksler had found. “White male caucasian, somewhere between his early thirties to early forties I believe. Unlike our Mr. Grosvenor, the abrasions on his knuckles and the bruising to his wrists suggests he fought back before being restrained.”

“Do you know the cause of death?”

Castiel glanced at Dean then, before giving one short nod. “I believe cyanide, like poor Mr. Grosvenor, from the scent of bitter almonds above the detritus. However I will need to run tests to be sure.”

Sam got to his feet, bidding Castiel continue, and motioned to Dean. “How often do you see a cyanide poisoning?”

“In this town? Only when there’s an Agatha Christie play on at the theatre.”

Sam gave a brief smile. “So two in the same week? Discovered by the same guy?”

“Yeah, I’m beginning to wonder…” Dean murmured, but then stopped as they neared Charlie and Gabriel, beyond the police tape.

Sam thought the author still looked shaken, but there was something in his mannerisms that Sam didn’t know if he could trust, that he didn’t think was quite right. They were going to have to question him more thoroughly this time.

It wasn’t a task he relished. He didn’t know the man well, but he had been starting to like him. True, his energy and enthusiasm were a little tiring at first, but Sam had got used to it, and had begun to find the effect reinvigorating.

“Can I go now? It’s cold out here—” Gabriel said, once the pair had slipped under the tape. “I stayed until you guys arrived. Without a coat. So…” His eyes flickered hopefully back to the upper floors of the building that loomed over them.

“Mr. Tricksler, I would like permission to search your property. You can request legal advice and representation if you should choose,” Sam said in a business-like tone.

Gabriel paused, frowning and looking in turn from Sam to the other detectives, laughing uneasily. “You think…. what, you think I killed that guy? Both guys? What?” He stopped laughing when none of them replied, when none of them said that they believed him. Gabriel looked between them, then back at Sam, the smile falling from his face as Sam kept quiet. Gabriel felt something inside him crumble, some hope that he’d never examined too closely, a half-formed fantasy that they all liked him, they would back him up. That Sam would back him up.

“We have to follow procedure,” Charlie said, interrupting the heavy silence that hung in the air. “And treat you like everyone else.”

Gabriel’s mouth became a thin, unhappy line. “I can refuse, you know? You’d have to get a warrant and I don’t think you’ve got a leg to stand on,” he shuddered at the thought of legs and wrapped his arms around himself.

“Fine,” he said. “You can all come up.” And with that, he turned and stomped off, towards the main entrance of the apartment, grunting as he passed an older man watering a palm tree in the corner of the lobby, his eyebrows raising several inches as the three police offices followed.

Gabriel stopped at the elevator and waited for the others to huddle in. “That’s Joey. He’s the biggest gossip in the whole building, in the whole of New York! So not only will I have all my neighbours thinking I’m a murderer, I’ll have every journalist in the state on my doorstep within an hour. Thanks guys. I hope no one’s offended if I don’t offer you refreshments.”

There was uncomfortable shuffling from someone, possibly Dean. But no one apologised. They made it to Gabriel’s floor, filing out of the elevator to the author’s door, which he unlocked, and then held it open for the others.

“Do I get to make a phone call?” He asked bitterly, as Charlie and Dean fanned out.

“Feel free to make yourself comfortable, you’re not under arrest or caution.”

Gabriel snorted, pulling out his phone and Sam was under no doubt that he’d be calling the mayor or his lawyers, or worse, Chief Mills to make a complaint. “Make myself comfortable? Somehow I don’t think you’d like it if I took off my pants,” he said, and then the call connected. “Kali? Kali—”

The man turned, and wandered away slightly. For a moment, Sam let him have his privacy, but then he realised that he couldn’t give Gabriel that option to get a message out to any accomplices.

He couldn’t let the rookie mistake of liking his suspect get in the way. He didn’t know Tricksler at all, and so far he couldn’t really rule him out. He had tried to, changed the facts to suit, but he couldn’t do that. The fact was, Gabriel Tricksler had benefited from the body found in the hotel, his books had been flying off the shelves lately, and his latest work had moved a place or two up the Amazon “most popular” book list. Sam had been keeping an eye on that since the man had invited himself along to the precinct. Alarm bells had rung then and now they were ringing again.

But money wasn’t the only motive. There were enough cases of people killing for attention, and if Tricksler wasn’t able to turn out the best sellers anymore, maybe he was looking at putting into practice what he wrote, just for kicks. He certainly seemed the sort who needed to be at the center of attention, be it good or bad.

Gabriel was still moving away, but Sam couldn’t let him out of his sight. Important evidence could be destroyed. He followed, through an archway into a retro red-and-black kitchen. It had clearly been expensive, with its chrome diner stools and 50’s-style fridge, but frankly it needed cleaning. It was far too big a kitchen for just one person. But Gabriel didn’t seem concerned with that as he pulled the fridge door open.

“…Yeah they’re here now.… Detective Wesson and his buddies.… No, I said they could.… Yes, I know that, Kali. But there isn’t anything to hide…” he sighed, balancing the phone on his shoulder as he unscrewed a bottle of soda and poured a glass. Despite his threat not to offer any, he did turn and hold out the bottle to Sam, silently asking if Sam wanted a glass.

“No thank you,” Sam said, and Gabriel shrugged, setting down the bottle and then holding his phone again.

“Yeah, I’m still here. You were right, he was too smart to take the poisoned soda.… Oh, he knows I’m joking.… Yeah. I’ll speak to you soon.”

He hung up then, and offered Sam a bright smile, to counter the detective’s unimpressed look. “Do you know how serious this is, Gabriel?”

The author picked up his glass, taking a swallow and then climbed up onto a tall stool, leaning on the counter. “I know I’m not guilty. And maybe that’s why I’m not worried,”

“Let me rephrase this. You’ve found two bodies. The cause of death was the same for both, and pretty unusual. And you claim that the first was like the murder in your book. You’ve got to see that it doesn’t look good for you.”

“Maybe I’m just having a bad week. Look, I didn’t have anything to do with this. Maybe someone is targeting me? Did you consider that?”

Sam gritted his teeth. It was a damn stupid suggestion, which was why he hadn’t considered it. “Don’t you think if someone wanted to frame you, they’d do a better job? Dump a body just before someone else took out the trash? Don’t you think they’d leave a bloody knife for you to be caught with? Or maybe a smoking gun? Maybe use a poison from your kitchen cabinet?”

“Are you going to search that too?”

“I think I should, ” Sam said, moving forwards and putting on a pair of gloves, opening the cabinet above the sink. For several long minutes there was only the sound of Sam looking behind things, taking things out and then replacing them when he didn’t find any bottles marked deadly poison.

And just as Gabriel was getting bored with the whole thing, Charlie cleared her throat from the archway, glancing between Sam and then to Gabriel. “Er…” she began, “There was a laptop on and open in the lounge, and I had a quick look at the browser history.”

Gabriel spluttered, choking on his soda.

“There was the usual. And a few… other things. Length of time it takes on average for suffocation to occur in adults, for example…”

“Research!”

“How to completely destroy DNA evidence…”

“Research!”

“There was also an order recently placed for duck tape, handcuffs, latex gloves and fifteen gallons of edible chocolate body paint.”

That made Gabriel colour slightly. “That wasn’t research…” He muttered as Sam had to look away, the images popping into his head certainly uncalled for.

Dean entered the room then. “Nothing immediately suspicious in the bedroom, bathroom or study Sammy. But there’s this amazing vending machine with cans of champagne in.”

“What?” Charlie asked, brightening up at that moment and ready to rush off to see for herself.

“Yeah and this wall of old games consoles in the study. I think there was a SEGA in there.”

“So neither for you have found anything?” Sam interrupted, before the pair could get overexcited and go through every computer game Gabriel owned. He didn’t want to glance over to the man, who he already knew would look unbelievably smug. But finding nothing didn’t mean that the man wasn’t guilty. No matter how much Sam wanted it to be the case.

“Have you all had fun visiting me tonight?” Gabriel asked, in a saccharine-sweet tone. “Personally, I could have done without finding another body and then having you go through my stuff. But because it is your job, I forgive you.”

The detectives at least had the good manners to seem sheepish then. But Gabriel just deflated, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

“Detective Bradbury, Detective Smith?” Sam said, and the very formal form of address made everyone look up. “It’s late, we’ll regroup tomorrow, early.”

Charlie and Dean shared a look, and then muttered their goodnights, slipping out of the apartment and shutting the front door with a click. As soon as they were gone, Gabriel expected Sam to relax, but if anything the man seemed to tense more.

“From this point on you are to stay away from this investigation,” Sam said, tone emotionless, as if he was reading the words. “I’m sorry, but this is a serious matter, and I can’t accept that this is coincidence.”

“Sam—” Gabriel began, but he wasn’t even entirely sure how to argue his corner. He wasn’t surprised, not really—he had known this was coming since Sam had insisted on searching his home. But now he felt empty, and hurt.

“It’s out of my hands, Mr. Tricksler. As a suspect in two homicides, I can’t allow you to be part of the investigative team, as an observer or otherwise,” he said, and as he spoke his shoulders seemed to slump more and more.

“Sammy, you don’t honestly think that I—”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“I’m sorry! Look, I’ve really enjoyed all this but I want to find out what is going on! I’ve gone through my whole life without seeing any dead people and now I literally walk into two dead guys in the space of a week! A week!”

He was breathing a little harder than normal now. The hurt had spiked in his chest and he felt that somehow he had to fight for what he wanted. He didn’t want to stay at home and sit out of it.

“Sam, I want to help!”

“You can’t.” It was said quietly, but it sounded so loud in Gabriel’s kitchen. “You’re not a police officer, you don’t have any real experience that can help us with this. Hell Gabriel, someone could build a case to say it was you!”

“But it isn’t!”

“Until I can prove that it wasn’t, until I have some other suspect, you’re staying home.”

And with that Sam was moving, going.

“Wait! You can’t—”

Sam turned, hand on the door to face the man that had followed him. “I know you’re friends with the mayor. I know my chief will probably chew me out over this. But this is the right thing to do.”

Gabriel stopped, all the wind knocked out of him by the assumption he’d try and get Sam in trouble for doing his job. “No, that isn’t… Sam, I—”

“Thank you, Gabriel; it’s been… fun.” And with that, the door opened, and Sam was gone.

 

 

The precinct the next morning was somber. Sam was in early, waiting for test results and the CCTV footage. He had picked up his own coffee, a small, bland drink that tasted bitter on his tongue and didn’t do much to actually wake him up.

He noticed Charlie come in, but she didn’t speak, only settled down at her desk and took off her backpack, her back resolutely turned towards him as she loaded up her computer.

Dean wasn’t so quiet. He arrived in a foul mood anyway, throwing his leather jacket on top of his desk and glaring at Sam. He crashed about, like a bull in a china shop and eventually he was going to blow.

“There is no way Gabriel Tricksler is a murderer,” he said eventually, words full of venom. “He’s a weird guy, Sam—I’m not saying he’s not—but I don’t think he’s our guy.”

Charlie had turned in her chair, but she said nothing yet, watching Sam.

“Detective Smith—”

“Don’t. Just don’t. I don’t know what’s wrong with you,” Dean said, stepping closer to Sam’s desk. “We should be out there, hunting down the psycho killing people with poison, and Gabriel should be helping us. He wasn’t holding us back.”

“He wasn’t doing us any favors. We aren’t here to entertain B-list celebrities.”

“I—”

“Detective Wesson?” Another voice interrupted, clear and crisp and loud from somewhere beyond their trio of desks. Sam looked up, and Dean turned around.

There was Chief Mills, leaning out of her office and looking at them all, a disapproving look on her face. “Could I have a word, if you’ve finished?”

“Yes ma’am,” Sam said, getting to his feet without another look at either of his co-workers, and tugged on his jacket, trying to at least feel a bit more presentable before heading into her office.

“Shit,” Charlie breathed, breaking the silence.

 

 

“Dean I expected to have temper tantrums every so often,” Chief Mills said, gesturing Sam into a chair opposite her desk. He declined as politely as he could and held his hands behind his back. “But I don’t expect you to help him create a scene in my precinct.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Sam apologised, thoughts rushing through his head. Gabriel would have called the mayor. The mayor would have called the commissioner, who would have contacted Chief Mills. She didn’t look pleased at all. He knew why. Gabriel Tricksler was a popular author. He was a minor celebrity and the city was keen to promote the work of its police officers to the public. By searching Gabriel’s apartment, Sam had completely ruined that plan and no doubt would have embarrassed the department as well as himself. It’d be all over TV within the hour. He was going to get the biggest lecture in the history of lectures.

But he could do nothing. He had acted in the way he felt was best, that was correct and based on his knowledge of protocol. What else could he have done?

Chief Mills shook her head slightly. “I noticed Laughing Boy isn’t in today,” she said, and Sam looked up sharply. “Oh, I know you searched his apartment. Bradbury and Smith submitted their paperwork this morning.”

“He hasn’t filed a complaint?”

“Not with me. Although he doesn’t seem the type not to have complained to someone,” Jody said, smiling briefly. “Do you think you’re going to solve this any faster without him distracting you?”

“He wasn’t a distraction,” Sam found himself saying, although he had to check that it was him that had said it. But it was, because Jody was looking at him now with a questioning look. “He was unconventional and loud. But he did his best to help with the investigation, and he didn’t get underfoot.”

“Then let’s hope that he comes out of this smelling of roses,” Chief said. “And maybe we can invite him back.”

Sam’s expression twisted.

“Sam,” Jody said in her “mom voice,” more feared throughout the department than any lecture. “We will be inviting him back. The commissioner has decided that himself.”

Sam stepped out of the office a few minutes later. Charlie and Dean didn’t bother to pretend to be working, and stood when he came close. They looked concerned, perhaps for him, but maybe there was some concern that they would be next to be called into the office and asked to explain themselves.

“You’re safe,” Sam explained, “but we have to get a move on with this case.”

Charlie nodded. “While you were talking to the chief, Castiel called up the results. Our John Doe the second was poisoned with cyanide. Death would have taken only a few minutes.”

Sam frowned. “How long between time of death and discovery?”

“Not long if the smell had lingered. You could smell it at scene, even over the trash. Castiel thinks the body was dumped and buried under the rubbish at most, thirty minutes before Gabe discovered it,” Dean said. “We’re already pulling surveillance. There’s no doorman, and uniform already canvassed the other residents. One lady on the first floor thought she heard a cat in the trash about 10:30, just as the news was finishing. But no one else heard or saw anything.”

“I’m willing to bet that wasn’t a cat,” Sam said. He’d got there almost an hour later: time for Gabriel to have come down, to have found the corpse, to call. Or to have dumped the body himself. But surely someone in that apartment building would have noticed their most famous resident dragging a body of a taller man down the stairs. Even in the mess of his apartment, they would have found some evidence.

“Sam?” Charlie said, bringing his back to reality.

“”What is it?”

For a moment she seemed uncertain, and then took a breath. “I don’t think this is coincidence anymore. If it ever was. I read Gabriel’s first book last night, The Rise of Ryder. The set up in the Park Hotel was… eerily similar to the circumstances the book’s first victim are found in. But he had been poisoned by a fictional toxin. There was also a second victim, found in an alley, who was stabbed in Gabriel’s book. Both bodies discovered by the hero…”

Sam felt Dean’s eyes on him, but didn’t take his gaze from Charlie. “Go on.”

“And I know it seems weird, even for this city. But these bodies have been left where they’re easy for Gabriel to find. They’re not killed in the same way, but they’re clearly connected.”

“Some nutty fan trying to make Gabriel look like a hero?” Dean asked.

“I don’t think so,” Charlie said, shaking her head.

“His publicist?” Dean asked. “All publicity is good publicity?”

“Kali Ganesh? No. She’s too savvy for that. Besides, there’s no reason to do it. If there was a book to promote, then maybe she might be coming up with marketing campaigns. There’s talk of a film, but I don’t think murders are going to really help with that, not if they implicate the author. No studio would go for that,” Sam said, going back to the white board and staring at it.

“Dean, I want you to focus on our original line of enquiry with Grosvenor and work on the ID of our second victim. Charlie? Just in case, I want you to look online. Anything out of place about Gabriel’s first book in chat rooms, blogs, vlogs, whatever. I want to see if anyone is doing some weird… fan thing.”

She made a face. “Real fans don’t do this sort of thing,” she said, but opened up her laptop.

“Charlie?”

She turned back again, looking at Sam. He was still looking at the photos and notes on the board. “Was that it? Two murders in the book?”

“Just those two, yeah.”

“Okay. Let’s get on with this.”


	4. The Follies of Memory and Ghosts of the Past

Gabriel was surrounded.

It was going to come to this sooner or later, he had known that from the beginning. Piles of paper, precariously balanced, stood on every surface. Files littered his living room floor, and his study was only accessible by climbing over the scatter of storage boxes, old notebooks and empty cherry coke and champagne cans. But this was always the way when he started a new book.

He’d sulked with a tub of rocky road ice cream when Sam had left, but not for long. He’d sat there, spooning marshmallow and vanilla into his mouth as the cogs turned. So what if he couldn’t investigate with them? It didn’t matter. Not when Detective Wesson had provided the perfect grounding for a new character. Out of the mess that was this entire fiasco, Gabriel would rise triumphant with another best seller.

He’d drafted the first chapter as he finished the tub, fingers flying over the keyboard and only pausing every so often for another spoonful of the rapidly-melting ice cream. He hadn’t felt this good about an idea for… for longer than he could remember. It was brilliant. It was incredible.

The sun was filtering through the blinds by the time he sat back, tossing the sodden cardboard ice cream container into the trash bin. It would need work. But he had a first chapter, he had a detailed plan, he had bits of dialogue already coming together. Sam Wesson, referred to on those pages as Sam Winchester, would have no idea what he’d started.

He washed and dressed, drank two bottles of Mountain Dew in quick succession and then bounced around his apartment for an hour trying to work out the perfect pitch. He had to sell it to Kali, to his editors, to everyone. They might be happy enough to take anything from him right now, especially considering he’d missed his last deadline. But he had to work with that inspiration he had, and now he had it, he was going to grab it with both hands.

It was almost early when he hopped in a taxi, hugging the first thirty or so pages of his new book to his chest. It was as precious as a baby and he wasn’t about to let it out of his sight. You heard horrible stories about drafts and scripts and finished manuscripts being left in taxis and lost forever. So what if he’d backed it up onto every USB drive he could find, that didn’t mean anything.

The rush hour was jarring across town—stopping and starting with the blare of horns. It might have been faster to walk, or even hop to his publisher’s offices but there was nothing to be done about it now. He took a breath, leaned back, and tried to rehearse his pitch. He was certain it was perfect by the time they pulled up outside the huge building, and he paid his fare and then hurried in. He didn’t need any distractions.

The girl at the reception desk tried to get his attention, probably for their usual chat but he powered on passed her. “No time right now!” He told her, pressing the elevator button repeatedly before the doors opened.

He had the ride up to himself, unusual for this time of day, but it was great for rehearsing his opening line. He murmured it under his breath once or twice, to make sure it was right, and then turned to the mirror.

“Kali, I know you’re mad with me for not finishing that Ryder book. But don’t be, because now I’ve got something even better. Kali, I know you’re mad with me for not finishing that Ryder book. But I’ve been working on something even better. ”

He turned when he felt the elevator reach his floor, stepping out as soon as the door opened. There were less people around than usual, but he stepped forward, and right into Dean Smith.

“I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll—Christ, what are you doing here?” Dean said, but it was too late.

There were forensics officers there, there was Charlie speaking to one of the editors, there was Sam on his phone.

“Where is Kali?” Gabriel asked, with a horrible cold stone sinking in his stomach.

He’d not spoken to her since his place had been searched. He’d not sent her emails or texts or poked her on Facebook. He stepped forwards, evading Dean who tried to block him, and ignored the uniformed officer who told him not to contaminate the scene.

He was almost at Sam now, who had ended his call and was attempting to block Gabriel coming any closer.

“What did I tell you about staying home?”

“This is my publisher!” Gabriel said, voice raising an octave. “Where is Kali? Kali?!” The last bit was shouted, looking around desperately to try and find her.

“Your ex-wife is fine,” Sam said, hands going to Gabriel’s shoulders. “There was hardly anyone here when the murder took place. We’ve interviewed her, and uniforms are driving her home.”

“She’s okay? She hasn’t been poisoned?”

“She hasn’t been poisoned,” Sam assured, softening slightly and managing a reassuring sort of smile.

“Then… why are you here?” Gabriel said, relieved but still confused and everything seemed to be too much. He swayed slightly, glad that Sam’s hand was still on his shoulder.

“I’m afraid one of the editorial staff has died.”

“Cyanide poisoning?”

Sam paused, and then nodded. “That’s what Castiel believes.”

“God,” Gabriel breathed, trying to look into the office Sam had stood in front of. The body had already been taken away because there was nothing there now but papers knocked from the desk, a smashed coffee cup on the floor.

“What I don’t understand was that there were only two murders in your book,” Dean said, stepping up to them and flicking back through his notebook. ”Jack Moran, found by Ryder in the hotel, involved in arms-dealing, killed before he can sell his story to Ryder. Then the stabbed man, Cristiano Capello, in the alley, who leads Ryder to the Senator at the heart of the arms-dealing scandal. Why this third one?”

“Wait,” Sam said. “You read his book?”

“Sometimes I like to listen to audio books when I’m driving,” Dean muttered a little defensively.

“That isn’t the important thing,” Charlie said, as she approached. “The point is these murders are clearly connected, and they’re connected to Gabriel. Does anyone die like this in your second book? In an office, with cupcakes?”

“Cupcakes?” Gabriel said, agast. “No! The second book is set at a ski resort. What is this about cupcakes?”

“There was a delivery of 24 cupcakes sent up here this morning. Our vic was the only one here that early, he took the delivery and had a couple as far as we can tell. The boxes were still in his office when we arrived, clearly he didn’t have any intention of sharing them yet,” Sam explained.

Dean made a face, as if anyone who didn’t share cupcakes deserved what they got, but he didn’t say anything about that. “We’re chasing the company who sent them over, to find out who ordered them. They’ll have used a pseudonym, used cash probably, but we might at least get a description.”

Gabriel nodded. “That’s good, right,” he said and, as Sam lifted his hand, he felt himself wobble.

“Come sit down,” Sam said then, and the two moved back towards the elevators and the comfortable chairs in Pagan Publishing’s little reception. Gabriel had sat there before, waiting to see Kali or another member of the publishing team. They’d been very careful not to tell him who had died, although they must know. It wasn’t an office Gabriel had ever been in, but whoever it was, he’d probably said hi to them at least once or twice.

It made him feel sick.

And there had been more than one cake sent up. All of them might be poisoned. They could have wiped out everyone in the office. It was a terrifying thought.

He put his head in his hands, the pages he’d brought along slipping to the floor.

“I think you should go back home Gabriel. This isn’t good for you. Call Kali, get some rest,” Sam was saying, his deep voice soothing and Gabriel found himself agreeing without thinking. “I’ll drive you.”

It was a much better option than being driven to the precinct and interviewed as a suspect. But even so, Gabriel didn’t know if he could accept. He didn’t think he could, not now, not just yet. “Someone tried to kill my friends here, Sam. I can’t just go home.”

There was a long pause. Sam didn’t seem to like the idea of getting Gabriel involved in the case again, but it was undeniable now that he was truly involved. “Alright. You can come back to the precinct with us. But,” he said, holding a finger up, “to eliminate you from enquiries, you’re going to give me a breakdown of exactly where you were over the last few hours. And we’re going to check it."

 

 

The precinct didn’t look all that different from usual; it was still a hive of activity. But now he was sat in a neat little room with another of those terrible coffee machines and out-of-date magazines. This was where bereaved families sat, witnesses, suspects who weren’t really suspects. Gabriel supposed he fell into the last group, although no one seemed to be sure what to do with him now he’d given a statement—after all he had no one to confirm an alibi with.

That was when Sam arrived, carrying a coffee from the cafe down the block, with extra sugar, extra milk and extra syrup. He handed it over wordlessly and, as Gabriel took a swallow, sat down besides him.

“I think it would be better if you went home Gabriel. This isn’t anything you need to do. I’ll keep you updated on our progress,” Sam was saying, before there was a tap on the door, left half open.

 

Dean looked more somber than Gabriel had ever seen him before: there was usually some small hint of a smile on that charming face but there was none now.

Even Sam seemed to have noticed it, and was getting to his feet as Dean came closer to the desk. “What is it?”

Dean shot Gabriel a look, as if he suddenly had some suspicions, wondering if it was safe to speak on front of him. “I don’t think I should tell you in front of—”

“Spit it out Dean,” Sam said, sighing. He seemed too tired for all of this.

Dean did not seem happy, tensing his shoulders, but he spoke. “The bakery came through with the name. They said the guy that ordered the two dozen cupcakes for Pagan Publishing gave his name as Gabriel Tricksler.”

Gabriel felt his jaw drop, and then he laughed, nervously. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam sit down again, slowly.

“Well, that proves it,” the tall man said.

“You don’t believe any of that crap, do you?” Gabriel said desperately.

Sam rolled his eyes. “You might be bright but sometimes you are very dense. I don’t think if you were poisoning people with cyanide that you’d do it under your own name.”

Gabriel nodded keenly. He wouldn’t ever poison anyone, but if he did, he would at least do it under an interesting and memorable pen name. Maybe something like Candy D’Eath. Mort Tastee. U.R. Graves. Something along those lines.

“But it does mean you are connected and whoever is up to all this really is trying to pin it on you. Or at least throw enough bad publicity your way to stop you from writing any more or getting any movie deals,” Dean said.

“But that cupcake place… They wouldn’t have poisoned the produce,” Gabriel said, “I doubt a dozen chocolate cupcakes with a cyanide frosting is on their daily specials board.”

“Then let’s go speak to them then. Find out who had access.”

Gabriel got up as the others went to leave, and Sam hesitated. “Gabriel, I wouldn’t recommend you come with me.”

“I’m being framed for two murders and for trying to poison twenty-four people, would you sit at home and twiddle your thumbs?”

“No. But you could go home and think about who would want to do this.”

“There isn’t anyone!” Gabriel exclaimed. “I’m a very likeable guy!”

Dean and Sam looked at each other, not entirely sure about believing that statement. “I’ll speak to Kali Ganesh. See if any crazy fans have ever written to the office,” Dean volunteered, sighing.

“Good,” Gabriel said, shrugging on a coat. “You get on that and I’ll go with Sam. I’m going to clear my name.”

Sam didn’t bother to argue. Not until they pulled up in front of the bakery. It was a nice-looking place, with menus of a sort stuck up in the windows, a polished white tiled floor and a sign promising the “best hot chocolate in NY.”

Gabriel was keen to test that claim, as the place seemed too nice to be involved in anything more unpleasant than artificial sweetener. Murder seemed completely out of the question.

“Look,” Sam said, bracing his hands against the wheel. “Have you ever been here before? Or ordered from them? Is there any way they might have seen you before?”

Gabriel shook his head. “Unless they’ve been studying the dust jacket of my books, I don’t think so. People don’t tend to recognize authors like they do movie stars.”

Sam shouldn’t have felt his lips shift into a grin, one that he should have stopped, or at least tried to. But he didn’t have the inclination, and as everyone else seemed to let things slip a little near Gabriel Tricksler, he was going to indulge himself too. Although not by much; if Gabriel thought that Sam liked him, or even found him tolerably amusing, Sam knew he’d never hear the end of it.

“Maybe they only recognize famous authors?” He teased as he got out of the car, letting Gabriel splutter as he too climbed out.

“That was mean!” The short man accused, and that was when Sam had to rein himself in. He didn’t, deep down, think Gabriel really had ordered the cakes, but it had to be proved. Bringing him here was completely against regulations as it was. He didn’t need to be seen laughing and joking with a suspect too.

“Hardly. You’re not to say anything inside, do you understand?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes but nodded, stepping in after Sam. The smell of the place was wonderful, warm and comforting, Gabriel could feel his stomach begin to grumble about the lack of baked goods in it. He took himself off to one side slightly, smiling briefly at the staff, to examine the glass case.

“Good afternoon,” Sam said, pulling out his police badge and ID, “I’m Detective Sam Wesson. I left a message to speak to the owner earlier today…”

Gabriel glanced up briefly, waiting to see the fae little thing who owned the bakery. She was probably blonde, and wearing powder blue. Maybe pink.

In fact the person who stepped forward wasn’t a cute little thing, but a tall, broad-shouldered man with stubble on his face and frosting all over the front of his apron. “That would be me. Benny Lafitte.”

And there was that Cajun accent that made Gabriel’s knees feel a little weak and had always cemented Gambit as his favourite X-Men character. If either Sam or Benny noticed him edging back towards the counter for a better look, neither mentioned it.

“Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Lafitte. I think my colleagues have already taken most of the details, but I wanted to speak to you to confirm one or two things.” The baker nodded, gesturing for Sam to continue. “Great. I understand that the order for Pagan Publishing was placed in store, and he paid in cash, right?”

“That’s right. Two dozen cupcakes, he paid in cash and didn’t want a receipt.”

“And there was no one but your usual staff working in the bakery on that day? You didn’t have a delivery driver call in sick and get replaced by an agency worker?”

Benny frowned at that question. “No, there was no other staff. Just me, a waitress, one delivery  
guy and two in the kitchen. They’ve all been with me at least… at least a year.”

Sam paused, clearly rethinking. None of the staff were new, they had been there a long time without poisoning anyone else. But Charlie already had a list of the employees here and would be checking them just in case. “Could you identify the who placed that order again, if you saw him?”

“I think so. He ordered quickly, but when he came to collect them we were busy so he had to wait.”

“He collected the cupcakes?!” Gabriel blurted, unable to stop himself.

Both men looked at him, Sam with annoyance and Benny with no small amount of confusion.

“Who is he?” He asked.

“You don’t recognize him? He didn’t order those cakes?”

“No. The man was taller. His chin was… smaller. Are you a police officer?”

Gabriel grinned, like a cat who had the cream and leaned forward onto the display cases in a way that was possibly meant to be suave and attractive. “Well, not officially, but when we’re off-duty I can stop by…”

He got no further before Sam pushed him away.

“Could you come to this station and describe the man who collected the cakes for a sketch artist?” The detective asked, over Gabriel’s muffled protests.

“Yes. I don’t think it would be a problem. But you’ll need to give me a moment to call someone to cover me,” Benny smiled, and as he did the corners of his eyes creased and Gabriel made a noise that made it seem like he was swallowing his own tongue.

“Great,” Sam said to the man behind the counter, shoving at Gabriel again, “You’ve been a great help.”

Then he turned, wheeling Gabriel away, shoving him towards the door. “We’re dropping you off on the way. Your name is cleared and you’re too close to this. Go and see Kali, just stay out from under foot. And stop flirting with my witnesses!”

“You can’t blame me! Don’t you have a libido?”

Sam snorted. “Get in the back of the car and wait. If you’re good, I’ll grab you one of their hot chocolates to go.”

 

 

This was hell.

He sat, stuck waiting in his apartment, while Sam and the others tracked down the killer. A killer that had made Gabriel’s own life hell. He wasn’t ever going to get over the nightmares about bodies in trash or alone with him in dark rooms without doors.

“Are you anywhere near finished?” Kali asked, bringing him a coffee as he dumped another box of fan mail onto his desk. “Why don’t you just leave the detectives to it? It’s their job, and they’ve solved plenty of murders without you getting involved.”

“No! There has to be something in here,” he said, grabbing a handful of the letters and scanning over them as quickly as he could. They were from the early days of his career—he’d stopped answering every single piece of fan mail himself when they became too much, when he had too much on his plate.

He’d kept the early ones though, the first flutter of people who had read his books and liked them enough to bother to tell him. He didn’t look at them, hadn’t in years, but knowing there were boxes of them filed away in the storage below his building helped. And now they were being brought to light again. He’d forgotten how many there were. Hundreds, thousands maybe.

One of them had to be it, a clue.

“How many of those have you looked at today?”

“Three boxes worth,” he muttered in reply to his ex-wife’s question. From her irritated stance you wouldn’t think she’d recently had a near-death experience. It was like water off her back. Frankly it was a little bit unsettling how she’d come over, albeit at his invitation, and opened up her laptop to work from home. Until, of course, he’d roped her into helping him carry boxes and boxes of paper up to the apartment.

“This is ridiculous. You’ve read all those letters before. Don’t you think you would have noticed at the time if there was something wrong with them?”

“What? And think one of my first fans was capable of committing three murders and trying to pin it on me? I like to think my fans think more of me than that.”

Kali sighed, the sort of sigh that usually accompanied throwing her hands up in the air and giving up on him completely. Maybe she didn’t at this point only because she had a glass of wine in her hand. “Alright. What can I do? Hire a cleanup crew to put all this away once you’re done?”

“Ha ha ha, how funny,” Gabriel shoved the papers back down into the box they’d probably come from, and glanced around for the next target among the discarded, faded letters, empty box files, and bottles of soda. “That file, over there,” he said, pointing.

She handed it over, before turning her back to wander back to the relative peace and quiet of the dining room, where she’d set up her little home office. She made it three steps into the hallway before Gabriel’s voice called her back.

“Kali!” He shouted again, looking down at the papers in the manila file and not noting she was once more by his side.

“What? I’m right here Gabriel.”

“Yeah. Sorry,” he said, voice a low, thoughtful tone that she found far more concerning than his loud, zealous moments. “Do you remember that court case? The plagiarism case?”

“I remember. But you could hardly call it a court case. It was thrown out days in. A waste of everyone’s time,” she said, taking the file. At the top was the letter of complaint, the plaintiff’s original outline of the case, that Gabriel Tricksler had stolen his story, and earned money that he didn’t deserve.

It had been years ago though, and Gabriel only just about remembered the whole thing—mostly he remembered the feeling of jubilation when it had all fallen through. Gabriel hadn’t stolen anything, of course he hadn’t, but he’d been suspicious of the law enough in his youth to be sure that he’d be found guilty just so the fates could laugh at him.

“Do we still have the copy of the guy’s manuscript? What was his name?” He asked, snapping out of his memories and feeling… something. Something he couldn’t put his finger on urging him on. This was important. Somehow this was very important.

 

 

The sketch was sent around to every precinct in the city almost as soon as the last pencil stroke had been drawn. Sam had stared at the man depicted, at the thin lips, the non-descript nose and he willed a name to jump out at him.

But he didn’t know the man from Adam. He couldn’t place him, put a name or a rap sheet to him, and worst of all, no one else seemed to be able to either. So the sketch was pinned up on the board, and Sam glared at it.

If this were one of Gabriel’s detective stories, Sam thought, the man would have been recognized by now. Much in the same way that the partial prints they had pulled off the mobile phone and the wallet would have come back with something. So what if those records, in Gabriel’s fiction, were locked by the FBI or CIA? They would have been someone. They would have had more to go on. As it was, this man seemed to be no one. He looked like almost every other caucasian man in the city to some degree—nothing really stood out about his face, his receding hairline, or his down-curving mouth.

“Sammy?” Dean called, heading towards Sam’s desk with a USB drive in his hand, plugging it into his laptop and bringing up the files. “We got CCTV from the publisher’s building. It’s the same guy, the man in the sketch. He’s got a delivery uniform from somewhere and brought those cupcakes in himself.”

“After adding some homemade cyanide frosting,” Charlie added, stepping into the square of desks juggling three coffees, handing them out. “Reports back from toxicology. It’s the same cyanide used to kill the other two, and mixed into the store-bought frosting the guy topped those cakes with.”

“Did anyone decipher the name he put in the visitor and contractor’s book?” Sam asked, taking a swallow of coffee before setting it down and pulling a file closer, a photocopy of the building’s sign-in sheet within. It just looked like a squiggle to him, and the printed section of the name looked no better.

“As far as we can work out, it says Shdsgs Thfeum,” Dean volunteered. “Which doesn’t help us much.”

“Nope,” Charlie said as she drew her chair up by the side of Sam’s desk. “I looked into our first two victims. I can’t find anything to connect them at all. No business interests, no unusual finances, no school, colleagues, or army units in common. It looks like they were picked at random, they were just… convenient. But there’s no way that Gabriel’s publisher wasn’t specifically targeted. This was always about him.”

Sam nodded. The same thought had been on his mind for too long now. You didn’t just stumble upon bodies. It was a coincidence that was always too good to be just a coincidence. If he’d acted more decisively before now, poor Harry Williams in Pagan Publishing might not have died. “Do we think Gabriel might be in any danger himself?” Sam asked, getting up and determined not to make the same mistake again.

Dean and Charlie shared looks.

“There’s been no threat, but I’d say things were escalating,” Charlie said.

“I’ll organise uniform to watch the building, and we’ll check in on him in a minute,” Dean said, pulling out his phone and stepping a small distance away to make a call.

“I’ll call Gabriel,” Sam said, ignoring Charlie’s interested expression, and he waited till she’d turned back to her own desk before finding Gabriel’s number in his contact list and hitting call.

It seemed to take forever to ring, the dialtone longer than he remembered. “I think he’s the only person in this city not surgically attached to his phone,” Sam muttered, to cover the beginnings of concern, calling again when the line went to voicemail.

He had to ring twice more and was putting on his coat, ready to drive over there himself before Gabriel answered, short and snappy. “What?”

“Good to hear from you too. We’re sending uniforms over to keep an eye on you,” Sam snapped back, wondering why he’d even bothered to be worried.

Gabriel took a second longer to reply to that, clearly distracted and for a moment Sam wondered if he was being told what to say. “Great. Look, I’m in the middle of something. I’ll speak to you later.”

“Gabe, wait—” But the other had already hung up, and Sam scowled at his phone. “Okay,” he breathed, and then looked up to find both Dean and Charlie watching him. “What?”

“We were worried. Chill,” Dean said. “Uniforms are heading over there now.”

“I don’t think he’ll be pleased to see them. I think he’s trying to investigate this by himself,” Sam said, shrugging off his jacket again.

“And we all know how well that will end,” Charlie breathed, taking another swallow of coffee to partially hide her words.

“Well in that case, let’s solve this before he starts suggesting international spies are involved,” Sam replied, readying himself to go through the paperwork again. “Let’s track down this guy.”

 

 

Kali had turned in for the night. He wasn’t sure if she’d invited herself over, or if he’d offered and later forgotten all about it, but she’d helped herself to half a bottle of wine, and then come in to wish him goodnight.

She could stay as long as she wanted, he supposed. He didn’t mind, and he liked her company. Besides, she’d hardly had a good couple of days, and he felt better having her close by. Not so he could feel like some macho hero, but because Kali wasn’t about to accept any nonsense from anyone. No nutcase on the loose was going to dare disturb her if they knew what was good for them. It was almost as good as having Detective Wesson watch over him, and not just a uniformed police officer twiddling his thumbs at the door.

He’d been out once or twice already this evening like a good host, with cookies and coffee. He’d even tried to offer something a little stronger but the young officer on the door had declined all of it. He seemed nice enough, but Gabriel had left him to get on with his job. Best not to invite him in, not with Kali over and wandering around in her pyjamas. They were strictly on a friends-without-any-benefits-at-all relationship now; Kali had a boytoy or two or even three in the city. But cops liked to gossip, he’d seen that enough in the station, and for some reason he didn’t want Sam to know that Gabriel’s ex-wife had been there.

There was no reason why not, he knew that well enough, but if Sam knew… well, Gabriel knew that he had an interest in anyone in a uniform, or tall handsome types. Sam probably didn’t have a type, and even if he did it wouldn’t be short, obnoxious egotistical geeks like Gabriel. But maybe could live in hope that Sam actually liked him. Sam was nice, when he wasn’t stressed and on the job. In fact, he was very funny, and caring, and Gabriel liked him. More than he should. Maybe after all this was over, Gabriel could ask him for a drink, or to dinner, or to a movie…

No. He was distracting himself. He’d gone halfway through the manuscript, unfinished as it was. But he didn’t feel like reading any more. The spy in the hotel had been poisoned, the suspicious scent of bitter almonds still lingering, and now, Gabriel was certain, the mystery informant that had missed the rendezvous would be found dead in an alleyway, also poisoned.

It didn’t read all that much like his first book at all, who didn’t find a body in an alleyway, in a city like New York, or Chicago? Or Detroit? Or LA? They were convenient dumping grounds and even more convenient for an author with no idea of how the corpse should otherwise be found. The hotel body was sort of similar though, he agreed that was suspicious, and what aspiring author wouldn’t get riled up about that, when they weren’t published and someone with a similar idea was? He sort of felt sorry for the poor guy now.

He flipped back to the cover page. Mystery in Manhattan by Quintin Merchant. It was hardly an original title.

Gabriel leant back, eyes closing. This guy Merchant was probably their guilty party. It was just hard to imagine it. It was difficult to remember exactly what the man looked like, in fact it was almost impossible to remember many of the details. His legal team at Pagan had dealt with most of it, and he’d only ever seen the other man briefly at court. Mostly he remembered the terrible suit, and a name on the roll at some class he’d taken years before that. Whether it was his terrible suit or Merchant’s, he couldn’t remember. But it had been almost a decade ago. Fashion back then had been terrible.

He paused, reaching towards his phone. It wasn’t a certainty that Merchant was their man, but it was a definite possibility and Sam needed to know, so they could investigate properly, like they were supposed to. But as his fingers touched the screen, the time flashed up in big, bright letters. It was so late that it was going on early, and no doubt Sam Wesson was the sort of police officer that tried to get his regulation eight hours. Gabriel didn’t want to earn his wrath by disturbing him.

Instead of calling, he sent a brief text.

Onto something. Dig up what you can on Quentin Merchant.  
See you tomorrow first thing. Gabe xx

Hopefully that wouldn’t disturb Sam’s beauty sleep. Not, Gabriel thought, that he needed much more of it. Gabriel, on the other hand, needed a lot. Especially as he’d added a kiss to the end of the message without even thinking, and pressed send before he could go back and delete it.

Clearly, he needed more sleep.

He got up, ready to turn in and try to catch up on what downtime he was missing. He was certain that this rediscovery of the old court case would help, that somehow it contained the answers. They could find this guy Merchant, find out where he was, if he was involved. But that could be done in the morning. Now, Gabriel just wanted to sleep. And wallow in embarrassment.

He got as far as his bedroom door before the knocking started. For a second he considered ignoring it, but he couldn’t, not when Kali told him to stop the noise or she would from the guest room. He grumbled as he padded back down towards the door, pulling it open with an unhappy expression.

The police officer waiting outside was different from the fresh-faced young man who had been on duty all afternoon. There was something about him too that tugged at his memory, but he must have seen every cop in that precinct by now.

“You’re the lucky one on the night shift are you?” Gabriel said, and then snapped himself out of it. “Sorry. Was about to go to bed. Long day, very bad.”

The police officer didn’t seem impressed or about to forgive him. He simply pulled out a notebook from his pocket. “The detectives asked me to make sure everything was locked up tight over night. Do you mind?”

Gabriel shook his head, stepping out of the officer’s way. The sooner it was done and the sooner this guy went, the better. But as soon as Gabriel had shut the door, there was something hard and metal pressed against his back, through the fabric of his shirt.

“Bolt the door,” the officer said. Gabriel did as he was told, almost on instinct. The door was locked, then a hand went into his pockets, pulling out his phone. It was dropped onto the floor, the screen smashing.

“Hey!” Gabriel began. “I only had that fixed—”

“Shut up.”

Gabriel did. The phone was the least of his worries. Especially when the man put the heel of his boot down hard, crushing what was left.

“And now I’d like you to take a seat on your, no doubt, expensive couch, bought with ill-gotten gains,” the man said, taking off his hat and dropping it onto the floor. That was when the pieces pulled together. Gabriel hadn’t seen him the other day when he’d brought in breakfast, or when he had to find his way to the men’s room at the precinct and had to ask directions. He knew him from many, many years ago. This was the man he’d tried to avoid in court, the man who had lent him a pencil once in an English class. The man in the police uniform was Quentin Merchant.

Gabriel tried to relax back into the cushions, tried to stop his heart from beating so hard it broke his ribs, but it was a losing battle. He’d been right. But he wasn’t going to get a chance to rub anyone’s nose in it.

Merchant was older, so much older than Gabriel thought he might look only ten years later. His face was lined and there were shadows under his eyes. He had an unhappy expression, like the corners of his mouth were weighed down. For all intents and purposes, Quentin Merchant hadn’t changed much.

Even so, Gabriel wouldn’t have recognized him if they’d passed on the street. Hells, they could have bumped into each other a hundred times and Gabriel wouldn’t have known him. But he’d been trying to picture Merchant not even half an hour ago, and now here he was. In the flesh, and frankly, Gabriel had lost all sympathy for him.

“I don’t understand you. I don’t know why you’re doing this,” Gabriel said. He was going to get shot. He knew that. He wasn’t exactly comfortable or happy with the idea. There wasn’t much he could do, though—he’d seen enough TV shows that ended up like this, but he didn’t have any kickass ninja skills or backup on the way. He didn’t have much of a chance of wrestling a gun out of a wet paper bag, never mind off of someone ready to shoot him.

Merchant snorted derisively.”You really are a ridiculous excuse for a novelist, aren’t you? You’re just overhyped and pathetic. I’ve read your books. They’re airport trash. You’ve never had an original idea in your career, in your life.” The gun wobbled, but not for long, and not any great distance. If it went off, well, Gabriel didn’t think he’d be walking away from it.

Gabriel shrugged, trying to seem at ease. “You could say the same of Shakespeare.”

“We’re not having that debate, Tricksler. You couldn’t even solve this, you couldn’t put the pieces together. You thought this was about you and your Ryder books all along, didn’t you? You don’t need to tell me, I know. You thought you had a crazed fan, some psychotic idiot trying to recreate your books with whatever poison he could get online. And they were going to make your books into film!”

Gabriel shifted, trying to ease himself away slowly, but the movement wasn’t as slight as he thought, and the gun followed him, the safety clicked off. He swallowed, and decided to stay still. “This was all about that plagiarism case? Years ago? Quentin, that wasn’t me! That wasn’t my doing! And none of these people deserved to die! Shit!”

Clearly Merchant had had enough. Gabriel wasn’t even half way through his protests when the first shot struck the couch cushion next to him. Gabriel cursed again, shifting further away from the hole in the dark leather, as if distancing himself from it could help.

“You talk far too much,” Merchant told him. “You stole my book Tricksler, and I haven’t forgotten or forgiven you. How many publishers have turned me down because of you? Because now they look at my name on the title page and say that was the man who accused Gabriel Tricksler of plagiarism?”

“I didn’t steal your damn book!” Gabriel protested, fear and desperation raising the volume of his words up a notch. But the claim only made the situation worse. Slowly, ever so slowly it seemed, the barrell swung at him, to his chest and then the trigger was squeezed. He could see it, a dark evil spit of metal charge at him, and then for a second there was nothing but searing white-hot pain in his left side.

He groaned, or at least thought he did, his vision swimming. He saw, through half-closed eyes, Merchant step forwards, maybe to take another shot, maybe to check if the first had been enough. Gabriel wondered if he could kick out, if he could swing a punch but his limbs felt as heavy as lead.

He had to try, to try harder as he saw Merchant’s features grow clearer, and then, soundlessly, the man crumple, and Kali behind lowering her own gun. He’d always been a little concerned when she’d kept it at home, but now when he tried to say so, he couldn’t manage it.

She was there, in front of him, tugging at his clothes. She seemed to be speaking, but Gabriel couldn’t hear her. He couldn’t really feel her touch him either, although he could make out the deep red staining her fingers.

But even that was beginning to blur. He tried to shake his head at her, but all he wanted to do was slump back and rest.


	5. The End

“It looks like Jessica Fletcher’s coming around,” a voice said, deep and close by, but Gabriel didn’t recognize its owner until he blinked the fog from his eyes, and the colourful blobs in front of him formed people. There was Dean, his hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket, and Charlie with a stack of comic books. Kali stood near the door, arguing with a doctor and there was Sam, sitting on the other side of the bed and looking more than a little relieved.

“Jessica Fletcher never had anything worse than a head cold,” Sam pointed out, shuffling a little closer and adjusting his tone. “Gabriel? How you feeling?”

“Like I have something much worse than a head cold,” Gabriel managed, trying to sit up before both Dean and Sam reached out to stop him. Dean’s hand rested gently on Gabriel’s arm, above layers and layers of bandaging, but Sam’s lay on his chest, firm and strong and for a moment Gabriel felt a whole tornado of butterflies going round in his belly. “What the hell happened?”

“I’m afraid we weren’t the heroes we should have been,” Charlie said, as Kali sent the doctor on his way.

“I was waiting for you to come back and tell me who had been banging at the door,” Kali said, a displeased look on her face as she stopped next to Charlie, her hands curling around the end of the bed. “When I heard the first shot, I called the police.”

“…And got through to me,” Dean said, a little sheepishly.

“And Detective Smith told me _ma’am, please don’t do anything until we arrive_ ,” Kali scoffed.

Gabriel laughed at the idea, although it hurt too much and everyone tried to push him back into the pillows again. “I could have told you that was stupid,” he wheezed.

“At the second shot… I may have lost my temper. No one shoots authors who still owe me a finished book,” she said, with the faintest of smiles.

“Kali, I will write you a million books,” Gabriel promised.

“I’ll hold you to that,” she said, touching his hand gently above the sheets. Gabriel wanted them to stay longer, but that was when the doctor reappeared at the door, and cleared his throat.

“Dude, we have to go. But we’ll come back and bother you later, okay?” Dean said, Charlie nodding enthusiastically.

“I understand guys. You go. I’ll just… sleep a bit more.”

They left, Dean picking up one of the comic books on the top of the pile Charlie had brought, mouthing he would return it, before slipping out with everyone else.

Well, not all of his visitors left.

Sam remained, Gabriel’s hand gripping the man’s jacket cuff before he could escape. “I have questions.”

“They should wait until you’re better,” Sam said, but after a quick glance to the door, the doctor clearly busy escorting the more troublesome visitors out, Sam sat back down on the edge of Gabriel’s bed.

“I sent you a text,” Gabriel murmured, eyes closing for a long moment.

“I know. There were two kisses at the end.”

Gabriel groaned again, although this time not with pain or discomfort. “I was really hoping you hadn’t noticed.”

“I’m not a detective because of my looks. I tried to call you about your cryptic reference to Quentin Merchant. But your phone operator said your number was out of service.”

“Merchant smashed my cell. Into little tiny bits,” Gabriel explained.

“I know. Right by the door. I was driving over to check on you when Dean called to say there were shots fired in your apartment,” Sam said.

“Kali beat you to it. She’s my knight in shining armour. You’ll have to fight for my affection.”

That made Sam chuckle. “I’ll pretend that’s the blood loss and sedatives talking.”

“You can pretend what you like Longshanks,” Gabriel muttered, eyes closing again. “You were driving to see me. In the middle of the night. People will talk.”

“They’ll talk more when they found out I had to give you emergency CPR.”

Gabriel’s eyes opened wide for a moment, “The kiss of life?” He asked hopefully, and Sam rolled his eyes before getting to his feet.

“Rest,” he said, “and when you get back to the Precinct, maybe I’ll tell you.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [That's The Way The Cookie Crumbles [podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1531484) by [litrapod (litra)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/litra/pseuds/litrapod)




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